n  .:■ 


enoRAViLLenA 


Ana 


RAV'-arpLDHAven  RomARce 


/  I'BRARy 


(By  the  same  author.) 

RKAIv  >PKOPIvK. 

Comprising   "A    Spanish-American   Engagement,"    "Bertram 
Born,"  "Keepsakes,"  "Parsifal,  Paul  and  Pauline,"  "Good- 
bye TO  Common  Sense"   and  "Concha  Casablanca." 

The  author  has  lightness  of  touch  and,  above  all,  true  artistic  feel- 
ing. We  are  inclined  to  think  that  there  are  not  more  than  two  or 
three  people  in  this  country  who  could  have  equaled  Mr.  Wilcox 
in  his  first  short  sketch.  "A  Spanish-American  Engagement"  is  a 
gem.  "  Bertram  Born"  is  a  smgular  conception  and  a  character 
such  as  Louis  Stevenson  might  have  thought  of.  Miss  Rich  is  a 
charming  creation  and  her  mother  a  typical  American.  "  Parsifal, 
Paul  and  Pauline"  is  a  clever  analysis  of  Wagner.— A^.  Y.  Ti7nes. 

Very  clever  and  diversified  papers Two  Spanish-American 

sketches,  which  are  both  good  and  strikingly  original.  Yale  College 
has  had  its  authors  who  have  depicted  its  life  in  pleasant  fiction, 
but  Mr.  Wilcox  is  quite  worthy  to  be  associated  with  Willis  and 
"Ik.  Marvel." — The  Ch7irchman. 

A  rare  little  book.  It  may  be  a  "light  repast"  that  the  author 
(as  he  says)  has  provided,  but  it  is  served  in  faultless  taste  and  with 
an  exquisite  literary  art.  There  are  six  distinct  courses,  and  one 
rises  from  the  table  refreshed,  delighted,  and  eager  for  another 
such  charming  entertainment.— //rtr^A'rrf  Courant. 

The  author  of  "  Real  People"  has  a  fine  artistic  sense,  delicacy 
of  touch,  keenness  of  perception,  facility  of  expression  and  grace 
of  diction. — Albany  Eventing  Journal, 

A  great  charm  about  the  book  is  that  while  it  is  very  bright,  and 
apparently  designed  for  light  reading,  it  contains  a  great  deal  that 
is  calculated  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  most  thoughtful.- 

— Savannah  Morning  News. 

In  sketchy  fashion  he  delineates  individualities  and  then  lets  them 
work  out  their  details  through  their  speech  and  acts,  with  the  result 
that  we  have  the  type  as  distinct  and  clear-cut  as  though  we  had 
gained  our  acquaintance  by  wearisome  microscopic  work. 

— Buffalo  Express. 

Studies  of  men  and  women  which  happily  exhibit  the  author's 
insight  into  human  nature  and  general  literary  talent.  There  is  a 
snap  and  piquancy  about  one  of  them,  "A  Spanish-American  En- 
gagement," that  is  to  be  particularly  remarked  ;  and  the  longest  of 
the  stories,  "  Keepsakes,''  has  grace,  humor,  and  several  scenes 
which  suggest  the  writer's  talent  for  more  extended  work  in 
fiction. —  The  hidependent. 

There  is  that  in  it  which  challenges  attention  and  commands 
respect. — Bziffalo  Conunercial  AdTertiser. 

The  title  is  fully  justified  by  the  lifelike  presentation  which  is 
made  of  the  persons  mtroduced.  They  are  so  described  in  general 
and  in  detail  that  they  actually  live  before  xi&.—  Troy  'Telegram. 

Almost  matchless  character  \)\c\.\ir&5.— Boston  Home  Jojirnal. 

The  "real  people"  whom  one  meets  in  these  pages  are  ac- 
quaintances wortn  having. — Cambridge  Tribune. 

We  are  deeply  in  love  with  both  Gloria  and  Concha.— ^(7j/^<7«  Post. 

"  Keepsakes"  is  a  notable  production.  Throughout  this  story 
the  author  shows  that  he  possesses  the  art  of  enthralling  and 
graphic  description.  Mr.  Wilcox  is  happy  in  his  method  of  depicting 
character,  and  often  makes  a  single  sentence  do  the  work  of  pages. 

—Buffalo  Courier. 

16mo,  cloth,  $1.00.     WMte,  Stokes  &  AUen,  182  Fifth  Ave.,  N.  T. 


SENORA  VILLENA 


AND 


Gray:   An  Oldhaven  Romance 


TIVO   VOLUMES  IN  ONE 


BY     THE    AUTHOR    OF    ''REAL    PEOPLE] 


gtfa)  gork 

WHITE,  STOKES  &  ALLEN 

1887 


MAIS  LIB. 


Copyright,  1887, 
By  MARION    WILCOX. 

All  rights  reserved. 


PRESS  OF   TUTTtE     MOREHOUSE   A    TAYLOR,    NEW  HAVEN. 


CONTENTS 


SENORA  VILLENA  : 

PAGE 

Dr.  Vincent  and  his  Sevilla,      .         .         .         .  i 

Jos6  Maria  Rodriguez, 9 

Senora  Villena, 20 

Gloria, 34 

Medina, 44 

Monday.     Act  I, 53 

Tuesday.     Act  II, 80 

Wednesday.     Act  III, 102 

Soir6e  at  Sevilla, 122 

The  Spanish  Session, 148 

GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE: 

PAGE 

Preface, 3 

Part    I— By  Mr.  Penman,         ....        7 

Part  II— By  Mrs.  Eaton, "7 

Conclusion— By  Mr.  Penman,  .         .         .         .247 


■955- 


463 


SENORA   VILLENA 

Erastro,  el  corazon  que  en  alta  parte 
Es  puesto  por  el  hado,  suerte  6  sino, 
Quererle  derribar  por  fuerza  6  arte, 
O  diligencia  humana,  es  desatino. 

— Cervantes  :  La  Galatea 


DR.    VINCENT  AND  HIS  SE VILLA 

A  cada  vuelta  se  mira 

En  los  ojos  de  su  amor, 

Yen  la  luz  de  aquellos  soles 

Se  le  quema  el  corazon. — Zorrilla. 

R.  VINCENT  and  Gloria  contin- 
ued to  live  in  New-York  for  sev- 
eral years  after  their  marriage. 
For  a  time,  that  is  to*  say,  the 
mere  fact  that  they  were  married  to  each 
other  was  in  itself  sufficient,  and  it  did 
not  occur  to  either  of  them  to  make  an}^ 
change.  They  lived  in  the  indicative 
mood,  present  tense,  repeating  to  each 
other  ''  I  am,  thou  art,  we  are,"  and  tak- 
ing no  thought  of  might,  could,  would  or 
should. 

I  like  to  think  of  them  in  the  positive, 
straight-forward,  simple  part  of  their  con- 
jugation, for  their  present  was  almost  per- 
fect. To  him  she  was  constantly  an  ex- 
pression or  express  image  of  those  hidden 
thoughts  and  ideal  strivings  which  he  so 
seldom  dared  to  utter ;  to  her  he  was  still 


2  SENORA    VILLENA 

transfigured  by  virtue  of  his  having  once 
or  twice  dared  for  her  sake  to  show  the 
depth  and  strength  and  beauty  of  his  na- 
ture. 

After  several  years,  however,  they  both 
had  a  touch  of  the  subjunctive.  This  is 
how  it  came  about :  I  give  their  conversa- 
tion without  changing  one  syllable. 

At  that  time,  it  should  be  premised, 
Gloria  was   not  quite   an   invalid. 

Gloria  :  Don't  you  think — somebody — 
mamita,  in  fact — thought  it  might  be  bet- 
ter— 

Vincent :  For  him  ? 

Gloria :  Him  !  It  may  be  her.  It  might 
be  better  for  it  not  to  be  in  the  city  when 
it  first  comes. 

Vincent :  Very  true ;  and  we  Avould  be 
happy  in  the  country  ourselves. 

Nothing  further  was  said  at  the  time  by 
either.  We  know  their  habit  of  silence, 
and  can  easily  guess,  by  the  tender  and 
dreamy  expression  of  her  face,  in  what 
quarter  Gloria's  thoughts  were  busied. 
As  for  Vincent,  he  was  reflecting  how  his 
own  earliest  association  had  been  with  the 
country,  in  harmless  freedom. 

He  also  showed  himself  to  be  an  ama- 
teur in  philosophy,  of  course :  otherwise 


SEJ^ORA    VILLENA  J 

he  would  not  have  been  a  modern  man  at 
leisure. 

"Whether  it  be  true  or  not,"  he  rea- 
soned, "that  a  child  imbibes  the  love  of 
beauty,  and  so  a  useful  ambition,  from 
such  surroundings,  this  at  least  is  certain : 
unless  our  boy  enjoys  flowers  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing  soon  after  he  is  born,  he  will 
never  do  it ;  for  after  a  while  he  will  begin 
to  smoke." 

So  a  transfer  was  agreed  upon  without 
discussion,  and  they  changed  their  resi- 
dence to  a  town  sometimes  called  Old- 
haven  in  the  vicinity  of  New-York. 

Surely  I  may  pass  quickly  over  the 
period  of  change,  inasmuch  as  they  them- 
selves made  little  ado  about  it,  and  may 
dismiss  with  a  word,  also,  that  season  of 
suspense  and  anxious  expectation  in  which 
their  vocabulary  was  limited  to  I,  thou, 
we,  he,  she  or  it. 

The  close  of  this  period  was  marked  by 
a  burst  of  happiness  which  I  should  be 
glad  to  describe  if  adequate  description 
were  possible ;  but  the  best  experiences 
of  life  are  known  only  by  their  fruits. 
This  best  experience  will  surely  teach 
one  to  pity,  and  it  may  inspire  some  gen- 
ial work  to  which    heart  and   brain  con- 


4  SEJ^ORA     VILLENA 

tribute  equally ;  but  I  can  only  suggest 
what  it  meant  to  Gloria  and  Vincent  by 
asking  the  reader  to  dwell  upon  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  following  transposition  of 
pronouns,  and  the  emphatic  position  of 
the  first : 

He,  thou,  we,  I. 

But  this  list  is  not  complete.  I  want  to 
show  this  family  of  three  fully  alive  in  the 
perfect  present ;  and  two  pronouns,  with 
the  infinite  variety  of  action  and  suffering 
which  may  follow  them,  are  still  wanting. 

Let  me  devote  a  few  sentences  to  the 
pronouns  you  and  they. 

The  house  which  Vincent  bought  in 
Oldhaven  was  not  one  of  those  pitiful 
wooden  expedients  which  stand  out-of- 
doors  in  the  cold,  shivering,  with  noth- 
ing over  them.  No :  it  was  a  substantial 
structure  of  stone  and  brick,  offering  a 
determined  front  to  the  elements.  Unpre- 
tentious and  even  rugged  externally,  with- 
in it  was  secure.  We  desire  an  all-the- 
year-round  friendship  with  such  a  house ; 
for  its  thick  walls  promise  warmth  in  win- 
ter and  coolness  in  summer.  The  expres- 
sion just  used,  '*a  determined  front," 
might  be  misleading.  I  therefore  hasten 
to  add  a  point  of  great  importance.     The 


SENORA    VILLENA  5 

sides  of  Dr.  Vincent's  dwelling  were 
neither  less  nor  more  attractive  than  the 
front ;  while  the  rear,  vine-covered  and 
ornamented  with  balconies,  was  really 
very  pretty. 

But  after  all  the  best  thing  about  the 
house  was  the  garden — a  pleasant,  old- 
fashioned  place,  Avith  an  abundance  of 
flowers  and  fruit  trees  and  gravel-walks, 
with  box  hedges,  and  arbors  and  a  suffi- 
cient lawn. 

Unless  I  succeed  in  conveying  the  im- 
pression that  these  are  features  of  genuine 
comfort,  without  one  bit  of  affectation  or 
display,  I  miss  my  intention.  The  exact 
amount  of  Vincent's  income  I  do  not 
know  ;  but  it  was  unquestionably  much 
more  than  enough  to  keep  up  this  modest 
style  of  living.  What  became  of  the  sur- 
plus ?  If  you  have  any  acquaintance 
among  the  poor  of  Oldhaven,  you  may 
learn  from  them. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  solid  strength  of  the 
walls  of  the  house  which  gave  to  any  per- 
son visiting  at  Dr.  Vincent's  home  a  sense 
of  security  and  easy  enjoyment;  perhaps 
it  was  the  row  of  shade-trees,  rising  like  a 
leafy  wall  around  the  limits  of  the  garden 
and  suggesting  seclusion  in  pleasant  com- 


6  SENORA    VILLENA 

pany  ;  perhaps  it  was  the  spirit  of  gener- 
osity which  a  guest  began  to  breathe  in 
with  the  air  as  soon  as  he  arrived,  thus 
unconsciously,  as  the  doctors  say,  "  con- 
tracting" generosity,  and  gaining  the  con- 
viction that  he  had  a  right  to  his  comforts 
if  he  made  giving  his  chief  kixur}^  Per- 
haps ;  but  I  think  not.  I  think  it  was 
this  : 

Nobody  could  tell  when  Dr.  Vincent 
would  play.  It  might  be  in  season  or  out 
of  season.  ''  Where  is  our  host  ?  "  some- 
one would  ask,  and  Gloria  would  reply 
that  he  had  seemed  rather  quiet  and 
thoughtful,  so  she  supposed  that  he  must 
have  gone  to  the  library.  Suddenly  an 
exquisite  breath  of  harmony  would  be 
heard,  at  first  so  faint  and  uncertain  that 
it  might  have  been  from  an  ^Eolian  harp, 
and  only  the  quickest  ears  would  catch  it. 
But  when  this  had  grown  into  a  strong 
melody,  all  activities  ceased  throughout 
the  house.  The  music  of  Vincent's  violin 
was  like  the  spell  which  bound  the  senti- 
nel at  the  gate  and  the  turnspit  in  the 
kitchen  of  the  castle  of  the  Sleeping 
Beauty. 

Those  of  Vincent's  friends  who  did  not 
allow  for  Gloria's  influence  thought  it  odd 


SES'ORA    VILLENA  7 

that  this  side  of  his  nature  should  remain 
a  thing  apart  from  his  ordinary  life.  He 
never  referred  to  his  music  nor  allowed 
other  people  to  refer  to  it.  In  manner  he 
was  cheerful  rather  than  serious,  full  of 
delicate  humor,  not  self-absorbed,  but 
ready  with  thoughtful  attention  and  kind 
service  for  his  guests. 

I  think  it  was  this  music  which  made 
the  peculiarity  of  the  place. 

As  for  Gloria's  influence,  I  beg  to  refer 
you  for  further  evidence  of  that  to  Vin- 
cent's own  speech  and  action  as  recorded 
in  the  following  pages  ;  but  without  delay 
I  must  mention  the  tribute  which  her  hus- 
band paid  to  it  and  to  her  in  naming  their 
home  Sevilla.  That  was  as  though  he  had 
said :  Thanks  to  you,  I  have  here  the  best 
of  all  that  is  Spanish. 

In  Sevilla  he  gathered  about  himself 
people  who  entertained  him  and  each 
other,  not  all  of  one  kind,  but  those  who 
at  the  same  time  stimulated  and  set-off 
one  another.  A  company,  he  maintained, 
should  be  selected  as  the  dramatis  personce 
are  chosen  by  the  playwright  —  for  the 
sake  of  contrast  and  dramatic  effect.  We 
might,  therefore,  go  together  to  Sevilla  at 
almost  any  season,   confidently  expecting 


S  SENORA    VILLENA 

to  find  there  several  people  worth  taking 
a  good  look  at ;  but  since  June  is  a  pleas- 
ant month  in  the  country,  and  since 
senora  Villena  and  the  Medinas  and 
Teresa  Diaz,  all  of  whom  we  know,"^ 
were  there  during  ten  days  of  last  June, 
let  us  choose  that  season. 

Beside  those  who  have  been  mentioned, 
Jose  Maria  Rodriguez — not  a  Cuban,  but 
a  Spaniard  of  the  Spaniards,  from  old 
Sevilla — was  also  there. 

These  people  being  together  in  a  gar- 
den in  the  pleasant  month  of  June,  either 
mischief  or  fun  was  sure  to  ensue. 

And  now  the  present  tense  has  been 
completed  by  the  addition  of  those  peo- 
ple whom  Dr.  Vincent  could  befriend,  as 
the  poor,  or  entertain,  as  guests.  Togeth- 
er these  make  for  him  and  for  Gloria  the 
pronoun  they. 

And  the  you  ? 

You  may  be  any  one  of  the  guests  you 
like. 

*  Characters  in  "  Real  People." 


JOSE   MARIA    RODRIGUEZ 

NE  morning  Gloria  and  Teresa 
were  sitting  together  in  an  ar- 
bor near  the  house. 

The  sisters  had  no  doubt  much 
to  say  to  each  other,  for  they  had  been 
together  but  once  before  since  Gloria  had 
left  New-York.  Especially  the  married 
sister  had  much  to  communicate.  There 
was,  for  instance,  the  inexhaustible  sub- 
ject of  her  American  acquaintances  and 
her  impressions  of  them,  not  to  mention 
her  husband  and  the  changes  in  his  char- 
acter since  he,  an  American  of  English 
descent,  had  married  a  Spaniard.  Above 
all,  there  was  the  superb  baby  to  be  dis- 
cussed. 

Instead  of  chatting,  however,  they  were 
quite  silent  for  a  long  time,  Gloria  sew- 
ing, Teresa  dreaming  with  her  hands 
crossed.  They  both  had  the  same  subject 
in  mind,  and  both  knew  that  very  well. 
Finally  Gloria  decided  to  come  to  the 
point. 


lO  -  SENORA     VILLENA 

Gloria :  What  are  you  thinking  of,  little 
sister  ? 

Teresa  :  Nothing  at  all,  in  truth. 

Gloria:  How  long  have  you  known 
sefior  Rodriguez? 

Teresa:  How  long?  I  do  not  know 
him.  Have  you  forgotten  the  rules  at 
home? 

Gloria :  I  do  not  forget.  I  remember : 
and  that  is  the  very  reason  why  I  ask  you 
how  long  you  have  known  him.  If  three 
days,  you  may  be  safe  still. 

Teresa:  You  know  it  must  be  longer. 
You  know  he  is  a  business  friend  of  papa 
dear. 

Gloria :  If  three  months,  you  are  in  dan- 
ger— and  so  is  he. 

Teresa  (languidly):  You  think  I  am  a 
flirt  still  ? 

Gloria :  I  know  it.  You  have  never 
cared  for  any  man  more  than  a  week,  and 
this  Rodriguez  you  have  had  chances 
enough  to  see — I  have  not  forgotten  how 
we  used  to  manage — ever  since  last  Christ- 
mas, when  papa  took  him  to  the  house  to 
dinner. 

Teresa :  You  pretended  not  to  know  ! 

Gloria :  I  know  enough  to  suspect  you, 
and  I   have  eyes  to  see  that  you  are  not 


SENORA     VILLENA  H 

tired  of  him.  But  since  you  have  known 
him  so  long  and  are  not  yet  tired  of  him, 
it  follows  that  he  is  the  one  exception,  and 
that  you 

Teresa :  Hush  ! 

Gloria  (looking  up  from  her  sewing): 
What  is  it  ? 

Teresa  :  He  is  coming.  Shut  your  eyes 
once  in  a  while,  little  sister. 

From  the  window  of  his  bed-room  Rod- 
riguez had  seen  the  two  ladies  enter  the 
arbor.  Being  a  man  of  the  world,  he  did 
not  follow  them  immediately,  but  gave 
them  time  to  exchange  confidences  and 
improved  the  interval  by  arranging  his 
plan  of  action  and  perfecting  his  toilet; 
for  in  matters  of  dress  and  affairs  of  the 
heart,  Rodriguez  was  an  artist. 

The  situation  was  less  novel,  and  there- 
fore less  perplexing,  to  him  than  it  would 
have  been  to  me  or,  I  venture  to  say,  to 
the  reader.  Teresa  had  been  so  beautiful 
and  so  languid  the  evening  before  that  he 
had  lost  at  least  half  a  night's  sleep  in  con- 
sequence. That  sort  of  thing  could  not 
be  allowed  to  continue.  It  was  impera- 
tive that  the  proper  revelation  of  his  senti- 
ments should  be  made  before  bed-time  ; 
but  how?     It  must  be  an  irresistible  ap- 


12  SEIZOR  A     VI L  LENA 

peal,  and  yet  he  could  not  hope  to  see  her 
alone.  But  every  one  will  admit  that  it  is 
more  difficult  to  be  irresistible  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  third  person. 

Such  obstacles  stimulated  the  Span- 
iard's desire  and  strengthened  his  resolu- 
tion. The  mirror  which  reflected  a  more 
and  more  faultless  toilet,  reflected  also  a 
more  and  more  confident  expression  upon 
the  handsome  face  of  Don  Jose.  His  per- 
son and  his  plan  were  ready  for  use  when 
Teresa  cried,  ''  Hush  !     He  is  coming." 

Gloria  greeted  her  guest  cordially  and, 
when  he  had  bowed  low  to  her  and  then 
to  her  sister,  made  him  sit  down  beside  her. 

Gloria  (secretly  admiring  his  broad 
shoulders  and  muscular  neck,  but  not  his 
new  coat) :  We  were  just  speaking  about 
you,  sefior ;  and  that  proves  that  you  will 
interest  us  most  by  telling  us  about  your- 
self. 

Rodriguez :  I  must  obey  you,  Mrs.  Vin- 
cent ;  and  the  first  thing  I  tell  you  is  this  : 
I  am  most  happy  here  in  your  house.  I 
am  most  happy. 

Gloria  :  What  a  serious  compliment !  I 
shall  acknowledge  it  when  I  believe  it, 
and  I  shall  believe  it  when  you  stay  with 
us  a  very  long  time. 


SENORA     VILLENA  IJ 

Rodriguez:  Well,  we  are  serious,  we 
Spaniards.     I  cannot  help  it. 

Gloria  :  Serious  !  You  don't  know  what 
the  word  means. 

Rodriguez :  I  do  not  mean  like  the  Amer- 
icans :  they  are  terrible  !  But  we  are 
more  serious  than  you  Cubans  are,  you 
know,  and  so  we  miss  one  half  the  pleas- 
ure of  living". 

Gloria :  If  the  poor  Cubans  did  not  have 
light  hearts,  what  good  thing  would  be 
left  them  ?  Spain  w^ould  take  away  their 
right  to  laugh,  and  sell  it  for  money 

Teresa  (interrupting  to  divert  the  con- 
versation from  the  treacherous  ground  of 
Cuba's  oppression  by  Spain) :  Is  Sevilla, 
your  city,  so  lovely  as  I  hear,  senor  ? 

Rodriguez :  It  is  like  this  place  of  your 
sister,  which  is  therefore  well  named, 
senorita.  It  is  charming.  Even  if  you 
were  a  stranger  passing  through  its  streets 
you  would  say :  there  is  no  other  city 
which  is  a  paradise.  You  would  see 
through  the  archway  of  each  house  a 
beautiful  court  within,  with  flowering 
plants  and  a  fountain  in  the  center,  where 
the  family  meet,  and  friends  come,  and 
the  most  wonderful  stories  are  told.  Ah, 
but  it  makes  me  sad,  very  sad,  to  think  of 


14  SE^ORA     VILLENA 

this ;  and  I  shall  return  never  until  I  am 
happy. 

Teresa  (with  mild  wonder) :  You  have 
not  been  happy  there  ! 

Rodriguez  (leaning  forward  and  speak- 
ing earnestly):  That  I  will  tell  you,  to 
you,  seiiorita;  and  I  have  never  told  it 
before.  My  father  came  to  the  United 
States  when  a  boy  to  go  to  school.  Here 
he  remained  two  years.  Among  his  mas- 
ters in  school  was  an  old  Spaniard  who 
taught  music  in  the  academy.  He  lived 
just  out  of  the  town  in  a  poor  little  cot- 
tage with*  his  only  child,  Mercedes,  who 
was  most  beautiful.  At  this  time  she  was 
only  twelve  and  my  father  he  was  sixteen. 
Her  father  was  poor,  very  poor,  and  had 
only  the  money  which  he  derived  from 
his  lessons  in  town.  He  was  evidently 
one  of  those  geniuses  who  never  find  an 
audience — never  ;  for  although  he  ,  com- 
posed music,  heavenly  music,  no  one  has 
ever  heard  it,  with  the  exception  of  my 
father  and  the  favored  few  who  have 
heard  his  daughter  sing  it  after  his  death. 
It  was  the  love  of  music  which  drew  these 
three  people  together,  and  my  father 
spent  almost  all  his  spare  time  at  the  little 
cottage,  either  playing  the  guitar   or  lis- 


SENORA     VILLENA  15 

tening  to  the  old  teacher's  divine  compo- 
sitions. Then  too  they  became  very  dear 
to  each  other  because  they  were  all  of  one 
race  and  all  in  a  foreign  land.  It  was 
there,  even  then,  that  my  father  lost  his 
heart  to  Mercedes.  He  called  her  his  lit- 
tle Avife  and  made  the  master  call  him 
"  hijo  mio  "  (my  son).  When  the  old  musi- 
cian would  fall  into  melancholy,  fearing 
for  his  little  daughter  and  wondering 
what  would  become  of  her  after  his  death, 
then  they  would  embrace  and  weep  to- 
gether, and  my  father  would  swear  by  all 
the  saints  that  Mercedes  should  never 
want,  that  she  should  be  his  wife  and  that 
he  would  cherish  her  above  all  things  on 
earth.  Five  years  afterwards,  while  at 
home  in  Sevilla,  my  father  has  received 
news  of  the  death  of  the  master.  He 
went  back  to  America  and  married  Mer- 
cedes;  then  returned  to  Spain,  where  I 
have  been  born  and  where  he  lived  with 
his  beautiful  wife  in  perfect  happiness  for 
twelve  years. 

When  Rodriguez  had  reached  this  point 
in  his  story,  his  expression  and  manner 
underwent  a  sudden  transformation.  He 
had  been  addressing  himself  impartially 
to    Gloria  and    Teresa,  receiving   encour- 


l6  SEIZOR  A     VILLENA 

agement  from  the  former  but  scarcely  a 
mark  of  attention  from  the  latter.  Now 
he  collected  all  his  forces  for  a  magnetic 
storm. 

A  moment  before  all  three  members  of 
the  little  group  in  the  arbor  had  been  con- 
scious of  the  loveliness  of  the  morning, 
and  in  addition  Gloria  had  been  conscious 
of  her  sewing  and  Teresa  of  the  fragrance 
of  violets,  which  was  as  truly  character- 
istic of  her  person  as  indolence  was  char- 
acteristic of  her  nature.  Now  Rodriguez 
had  secured  the  opportunity  to  speak  as 
his  feeling  prompted,  and  that  was  with 
such  passion  that  the  sisters  drew  close 
together  and  clasped  each-other's  hands. 

He  began  to  speak  about  his  love  for 
his  mother ;  but  Teresa  read  in  his  face 
and  heard  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  a  mes- 
sage intended  for  herself  alone.  Then  he 
lavished  upon  his  mother  such  praise  as 
the  filial  sentiment  never  suggests ;  and 
Teresa  saw  that  he  was  studying  his 
description  of  the  mother's  perfections 
from  her  own  person.  Finally  he  painted 
such  an  enchanting  picture  of  his  mother's 
ideal  life,  surrounded  by  all  that  is  admir- 
able in  the  birth-place  and  home  of  Span- 
ish art,  that  Teresa  lost  her  judgment  in 


seNora   villena  17 

contemplation  and  did  not  notice  that  the 
details  of  this  picture  were  but  copies  of 
her  own  well-known  tastes  and  fancies. 

Do  not  suppose  from  this  that  the  pas- 
sion of  Rodriguez  was  artifice.  The 
slightest  touch  of  sham  would  have 
ruined  everything,  for  it  would  have  been 
instantly  detected.  It  was  not  artifice, 
but  art.  And  you  may  be  sure  that  it 
was  not  mere  passionate  warmth,  but  that 
it  was  fire.     I  offer  proof. 

Teresa's  eyes  were  dark,  tender  and 
secret  things — which  I  cannot  call  fea- 
tures without  conveying  the  false  impres- 
sion that  anybody  and  everybody  could 
see  them.  Anybody  and  everybody  could 
see  that  they  were  large  and  dark,  but 
nothing  more.  Rodriguez  himself  had 
never  seen  more  than  that ;  but  now,  as 
his  story  progressed,  those  dreamy  eyes 
became  more  and  more  brilliant,  until 
finally  they  were  like  flames.  Warmth 
may  beget  tenderness ;  but  flame  answers 
only  to  fire. 

When  Rodriguez  saw  that  light  kindled, 
he  was  satisfied.  In  the  presence  of  a 
third  person  he  had  declared  his  passion, 
had  urged  his  suit  in  the  most  effective 
manner,  and  had  received  encouragement. 


l8  SENORA     VILLENA 

That  was  enough.  His  artistic  sense  put 
a  period. 

If  he  had  continued  to  speak  in  this 
strain  his  gladness  would  have  showed 
itself,  Gloria  would  have  noticed  both 
that  and  her  sister's  expression  and  would 
have  discovered  the  plot.  The  charm  of 
the  situation  would  have  been  lost.  It 
cost  a  real  but  no  apparent  effort  for  him 
to  continue  his  story,  as  though  that  had 
been  from  the  first  his  only  intention.  He 
did  not  dare  to  look  at  Teresa,  but  ad- 
dressed himself  exclusively  to  Gloria. 

"When  I  was  little  more  than  ten  years 
old,"  he  said,  "  my  father  was  called  sud- 
denly to  New  York  on  business  of  great 
importance.  He  did  not  take  us  with 
him,  alas  !  It  was  the  first  separation.  I 
cannot  bear  to  tell  the  great  sorrow  that 
afterwards  fell  upon  me.  I  had  never 
known  anything  but  joy  ;  and  while  my 
father  was  away  my  beautiful  mother  took 
me  closer  than  ever  to  herself,  so  that  I 
was  very  happy.  .  .  .  When  he  stepped 
on  land,  my  father,  he  found  me  dressed 
in  deep  mourning.  My  mother  whom  I 
adored  had  gone  mad  and  died  in  four 
days :  and  I  saw  it  all.  Do  you  wonder, 
Mrs.   Vincent,   that    the    paradise    called 


SEiVOJ^A     VILLENA  IQ 

Sevilla  was  hateful  to  me  until  I  had 
learned  that  such  things  happen  every- 
where ?" 

Gloria  put  out  her  hand,  which  Rod- 
riguez took  with  profound  respect,  hold- 
ing it  for  a  moment  in  silence  and  then 
raising  it  to  his  lips.  So  they  became 
friends. 

Then  the  joy  of  a  hopeful  lover  as- 
serted itself  and  would  no  longer  be  con- 
trolled. Rodriguez  began  to  sing  the 
praise  of  his  host  and  this  new  Sevilla 
which  he  had  founded  ;  and  I  verily  be- 
lieve that  if  he  had  thought  of  the  new 
baby-carriage  he  would  have  praised  that 
also. 

"  How  extremely  considerate  of  him," 
Gloria  thought,  ''  to  give  the  conversation 
a  cheerful  turn  so  promptly,  after  that 
sad  story." 

But  I  dare  not  record  what  they  said 
after  that,  for  they  fell  to  discussing  per- 
fumes and  perfumery.  In  that  depart- 
ment they  were  all  three  very  learned 
and  strictly  scientific,  using  terms  which  I 
do  not  understand. 


SENORA    VILLENA 

URING  the  half-hour  which  Rod- 
riguez, in  his  bachelor  room,  de- 
voted to  plans  for  the  conquest 
of  one.  Concha  Casablanca  Me- 
dina, in  her  more  sumptuous  chamber, 
made  her  customary  preparation  to  win 
pi-aise  from  all  the  world. 

Medina  had  risen  early,  put  on  his  stout- 
est shoes,  and  joined  Vincent  in  a  morn- 
ing walk  to  the  post-office.  He  had  bid- 
den his  wife  good-bye  as  though  setting 
out  upon  a  long  and  perilous  journey. 
The  reader  is  invited  to  draw  from  this 
circumstance  his  own  conclusions  as  to 
the  time  which  had  elapsed  since  that 
Sunday  afternoon  when  Miguel  won 
"  pounds  and  pounds  "  of  candy  by  help- 
ing his  merry  aunt  to  a  modest  husband. 

Concha  had  on  a  new  dressing-sacque, 
so  she  decided  to  take  her  morning  cup  of 
coffee  with  senora  Villena. 

Cvip  in  hand  she  crossed  the  hall  and 
stood  at  her  good  friend's  door  and 
knocked. 


SENORA     VILLENA  21 

"  Caramba  !     Com'  quick  in  !" 

Concha  turned  the  knob  and  entered. 

''Oh  !  's  jou,  Conchita?"  said  the  senora. 
"  Why  jou  knock  ?  I  thought  's  that  leetle 
moankey." 

"  What  monkey,  Coralie  ?" 

''  That  leetle  nayg-ro  bo-ee,  that  leetle 
moankey,"  she  repeated  impatiently.  ''Jou 
know,  Conchita,  he  bringer  the  water,  eh  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  the  little  black  boy  in 
buttons,"  said  Concha.  "  But,  good  gra- 
cious !  my  dear,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  this  morning  ?     You  look  so  oddly." 

Senora  Villena  had  waked  up  with  a 
pain  in  her  shoulder,  and  had  immediately 
begun  to  think  over  all  the  misdeeds  and 
frivolities  of  her  life.  She  reached  the 
conclusion  that  she  was  an  old  woman, 
and  that  the  Lord  had  finally  decided  to 
punish  her.  When  Concha  entered  she 
was  dressed  very  plainly,  her  hair  ar- 
ranged not  in  her  usual  fashion  of  /7'ise 
but  drawn  down  almost  over  her  ears. 
Seated  in  a  rocking-chair  she  swayed  to 
and  fro  as  she  replied  : 

"  I  teller  jou,  girl,  I  am  now  growing  to 
be  an  old,  verie  old,  an'  I  must  act  myself 
liker  wong"  (like  one).  "  I  dress  me  verie 
plain,  verie  plain." 


22  SENORA    VILLENA 

''  Bah  !"  said  Concha.  ''  Nothing  of  the 
kind."  She  had  seen  her  friend  melan- 
choly once  or  twice  before. 

''  But  1  mean  it,"  persisted  the  senora. 
"  I  mean  it  for  sure.  Yes,  Conchita,  Con- 
chita !" 

"  Whom  do  you  think  I  met  just  before 
we  left  town — let  me  see,  day  before  yes- 
terday ?  Whom  do  you  think,  Coralie  ?" 
Concha  asked. 

''  I  don'  know,  my  dear,"  said  the 
senora,  indifferently. 

"  Well,  guess.  Someone  you  like,"  Con- 
cha urged. 

''  No,  I  cannot  guess.     I  don'  care." 

''  That  delightful  Monsieur  Lafitte,"  Con- 
cha said ;  "  and  he  told  me  he  saw  you  at 
the  theater  last  Wednesday  night,  and 
that  he  had  never  seen  you  look  so  well. 
He  said  you  had  a  beautiful  costume  on, 
and  your  diamonds  were  superb." 

While  Concha  was  speaking,  a  change 
came  gradually  over  the  senora's  woeful 
face.  For  an  instant  she  tried  to  resist  it, 
but  in  vain  ;  for  her  heart  was  very  much 
stronger  than  her  head.  The  change  stole 
upward,  lifting  her  chin  perceptibly,  then 
drawing  the  corners  of  her  mouth  with  it 
on  its  way  to  her  eyes,  which  it  set  dancing. 


SEIVORA     VILLENA  23 

"  Don'  say,  Conchita  mia  I"  she  ex- 
claimed "  Caspita !  jou  know,  we  had 
splendid  time.  Here  !  Susanne,"  (calling 
her  French  maid  from  an  adjoining  room) 
"  com'  fixer  my  hair ;  taker  this  plain 
dress  ;  bringer  wong  handsome." 

She  jumped  up  and,  taking  Concha  by 
the  hand,  continued  :  ''  My  dear,  com'.  I 
show  jou  my  new  costume.  We  haver 
partie  to-night,  no? — an'  we  invite  Mon- 
sieur Lafitte,  an'  I  fixer  myself  superblie 
for  him."  She  snapped  her  fingers  and 
took  several  waltz-steps,  singing  "  Les 
femines,  les  feinmes. 

''  Not  to-night,  Coralie,"  Concha  sug- 
gested. ''  We  will  give  that  party  when 
we  get  back  to  the  city." 

Another  change,  this  time  instantane- 
ous, in  the  senora's  expression.  She  threw 
herself  into  the  nearest  chair.  ''  Devilo 
place  in  the  coantry,"  she  moaned.  "  No 
fun,  no  gay !  Ah,  Conchita,  Conchita,  I 
am  verie  old  woman !  Valgame  Dios !" 
Then,  addressing  her  trim  maid  who  had 
brought  in  a  gorgeous  skirt,  ''  Taker  that 
away  !"  she  cried.  '*  Don'  be  so  fool,  girl ! 
Virgen  santisima,"  she  concluded,  cross- 
ing herself,  *'  Ora  pro  nobis  !" 

Concha  was  laughing  so  heartily  at  this 


24  SENORA     VILLENA 

parody  of  woe  that  she  could  scarcely 
speak ;  but  her  quick  wit  suggested 
another  expedient  for  overcoming  the  real 
melancholy  which,  she  knew,  was  hidden 
beneath  this  grotesque  display. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Coralie,"  she  said, 
in  a  breathless  way,  "  that  time  before  I 
was  married,  when  you  got  me  to  write 
invitations  for  you  to  Louis  Diaz  and 
Escaso  (the  little  beast !)  and  lots  of  others 
to  come  to  a  soiree  at  your  apartments?" 

''Toma!  often  enough,"  said  the  senora, 
without  interest. 

''  But  I  mean  that  time — that  particular 
time,"  Concha  said.  **  On  the  appointed 
evening  I  array  myself,  I  go  early  to  help 
you  receive,  I  find  you  dressed  to  go 
out !"  Here  Concha  began  to  act  the 
scene.  ''You  welcome  me  as  though  I 
were  unexpected. 

"-  '  How  jou  do,  Conchita  ?'  you  say. 

'*  '  Well,  who  has  accepted  ?  Who  is 
coming  ?'  I  ask. 

''  '  Where,  my  dear  ?'  you  say. 

''  '  Wh3%  here,  to-night,  of  course,'  I  an- 
swer. 

'*  '  Oh,  my  dear,  1  refuser  the  invita- 
tions,' you  are  good  enough  to  explain  ; 
by  which  you  mean  that  at  the  last  minute 


SENORA     VILLENA  2^ 

you  have  sent  word  to"  everybody  but  me 
not  to  come,  as  you  prefer  to  go  to  the 
theater !" 

In  spite  of  herself  seilora  Villena  smiled 
at  Concha's  perfect  imitation  of  her  accent 
and  manner. 

"  Well,"  Concha  continued,  "that  showed 
me  that  you  prefer  the  theater  to  a  soiree 
at  home." 

"  Why  not  ?  1  think  yes,"  the  senora 
assented. 

''  Ea,  courage  !"  cried  Concha,  drawing 
up  a  light  table  and,  after  wrapping  a  lace 
handkerchief  around  her  wrist,  beginning 
to  "dance  ballet  with  my  fingers,"  in  her 
own  phrase,  upon  it.  Her  fingers  being 
very  white  and  tapering,  ending  in  pointed 
nails,  which  had  just  been  polished  to  a 
dazzling  brightness,  and  the  handkerchief 
falling  short  of  being  a  skirt,  but  still  fall- 
ing somewhat, — it  was  a  pretty  invocation 
to  the  "  Muse  of  the  many  twinkling 
feet." 

"  Courage  !"  Concha  repeated,  making 
all  her  fingers  race  from  the  sides  of  the 
table  to  the  edge  nearest  her  auditor. 
"  Here  comes  the  whole  corps-de-ballet  to 
the  foot-lights."  She  hummed  a  Spanish 
dance  and  made  the  corps  keep  time  with 


26  SENORA    VILLENA 

simple  steps  ;  then,  ''  Here  comes  the  pre- 
miere danseuse,''  she  said.  The  subordi- 
nates disappeared,  and  from  the  back- 
ground came  her  index  and  middle  fingers 
alone,  whirling,  spinning,  pirouetting,  now- 
kneeling  for  applause,  now  defying  criti- 
cism in  that  right-angle  position  which 
always  suggests  the  question  ''  How  ?" 
and  sometimes  the  disapproving  ''Why?" 
Next,  her  left  hand  ran  out  from  the  side- 
scenes,  and  knelt  for  the  first  dancer  to 
mount  and  posture  on  his  arm.  ''  That  is 
the  maitre,"  said  Concha  ;  ''  he  is  very 
strong." 

"  Brava  !  Encore  !  Otra  vez  !"  cried  the 
senora,  and  drew  a  ring,  one  of  many, 
from  her  hand.  ''  Here,  Conchita  mia, 
jou  taker  that." 

''  I  have  no  fingers  at  present,  as  you 
have  seen  ;  and  anklets  are  not  in  fashion," 
Concha  laughingly  replied.  Then,  to 
drive  the  thought  of  giving  from  her 
friend's  mind,  she  quickly  added  :  ''  I  tell 
you  what  we  will  do.  We  will  have  a 
play  here." 

"  Eh  ?     What  jou  say,  bebe  ?" 

'*  I  say,  we  will  give  a  pla}^  here,  at  Dr. 
Vincent's,"  Concha  replied  in  a  convinc- 
ing tone. 


SE.VORA     VI L  LENA  27 

"  A  play  !  theater  !  in  this  Old— I  don' 
know  how  you  call — Oldhaven  !" 

"  No,  not  in  the  town :  right  here  where 
we  are." 

''  Oh,  bebe  !" — in  a  reproachful  voice. 
''  Where  the  stage,  eh  ?  Where  the  or- 
chestre  ?" 

"  I  will  take  care  for  all  that.  Promise 
to  help  me  !     Will  you  promise  ?" 

The  sefiora  promised  and  believed  :  so 
Concha  was  in  for  it. 

That  is  how  the  idea  started — in  a 
chance  suggestion. 

A  most  happ}^  chance,  I  shall  always 
think ;  for  the  little  play-seed  fell  into 
rich,  warm  soil,  when  it  took  root  immedi- 
ately. 

And  the  soil  was  favorable  to  this  par- 
'ticular  seed  rather  than  to  any  other. 
Have  you  never  noticed  that  the  Spanish- 
American  has  one  passion  and  one  talent : 
the  passion  for  observing  manners  and  the 
talent  for  imitation  ?  When  we  of  Puritan 
lineage  win  through  plodding  study  and 
bitter  experience  an  uncommon  knowl- 
edge and  appreciation  of  our  fellow-men, 
we  call  that  knowledge  and  appreciation 
by  a  name  which  the  philosophers  use — 
'*  insight  ;"    but   the    Spaniard    is    born   a 


28  SEIVORA     VILLENA 

member  of  the  Appreciative  Union.  I  do 
not  think  that  great  philosophers  use  or 
that  all  great  philosophers  understand 
that  term. 

I  shall  devote  a  number  of  pages  to 
showing  how  rapidly  the  little  play-seed 
grew  in  the  mellow  soil  and  the '  tropical 
climate  of  an  Appreciative  Union. 

First  of  all  Concha  went  to  seek  Vin- 
cent, and  found  him  just  returned  with 
Medina  from  that  walk  which  the  one 
called  a  constitutional,  and  the  other  a 
journey. 

It  took  twenty  words  and  twenty-five 
gestures  for  Concha  to  state  her  intention 
and  convince  both  her  host  and  her  hus- 
band of  its  feasibility. 

Of  course  she  did  not  stoop  to  details : 
it  is  such  a  woman's  prerogative  to  in- 
spire, and  it  is  the  simple  duty  of  all  men 
to  execute  for  her. 

The  twenty-fifth  gesture  was  the  one 
which  convinced. her  husband.  She  went 
away  with  him  and  left  Vincent  thinking. 

"  It  is  not  so  easy,"  Vincent  thought  ; 
"  and  it  is  not  so  hard.  For  me  alone  it 
would  be  impossible  ;  for  them  Avithout 
me — or  somebody  who  has  rules — it  would 
become  grotesque.    I  am  the  stupid  whom 


SES'ORA     VILLENA  2Q 

they  need  to  check  their  extravagance  now 
and  then.  I  am  to  them  like  the  quantum 
sufficit  of  heaviness  which  every  genius 
should  have,  to  keep  him  from  becoming  a 
crank.    I  am  their  ballast :  that  is  all  I  am." 

So  he  continued  to  charge  himself  with 
stupidity  ;  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  clev- 
erness of  his  argument,  the  genuine  con- 
viction in  his  mind  might  raise  a  corres- 
ponding belief  in  my  own,  as  I  watch  him 
now. 

Presently  his  thoughts  came  back  to  the 
matter  proposed. 

"  It  is  only  one  step  in  advance,"  he 
reasoned.  ''  It  is  after  all  only  the  natural 
thing  for  them.  Here  they  are — all  born 
appreciators,  mimics,  actors.  They  get 
at  the  essence  of  the  characters  of  people 
by  intuition  ;  they  are  forever  acting  the 
history  of  some  acquaintance,  so  that  I 
know  their  friends  better  than  my  own. 
My  wife  even  imitates  me  to  my  face,  and 
her  imitation  is  more  like  me  than  I  am. 
Only  one  thing  more  is  needed  :  to  prune 
the  luxuriant  growth  of  their  fancies. 
They  think  of  too  many  things  at  once, 
that's  the  trouble.  If  they  come  together 
untrimmed,  the}'  will  make  a  thicket  and 
not  a  garden." 


30  SENORA     VILLENA 

Here  Vincent  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  wide,  cool  hallway  where  Con- 
cha had  met  him.  He  stared  at  the  most 
familiar  objects,  because  he  really  was  not 
noticing  them. 

"  Yes,  one  thing  more  is  needed,"  he 
said,  half  aloud  :  "  They  must  have  a  com- 
mon plan  of  action,  of  course.  That  is, 
we  must  arrange  a  plot  beforehand.  But 
we  can  manage  that,  easily  enough." 

His  manner  while  he  was  considering 
the  question  of  the  plot  showed  easy  con- 
fidence ;  but  presently  he  stopped  before 
a  painting  which  he  did  not  especially  like. 

*'  By  Jove  !  another  thing,"  he  ex- 
claimed aloud.  ''  Where  ?  If  we  use  one 
parlor  for  the  stage  and  another  for  the 
auditorium,  I  shall  have  to  change  that 
mountain-scene.  It  would  never  do  in 
the  parlor." 

He  had  in  fact  made  a  false  start.  The 
picture  which  he  did  not  like  represented 
a  mountain-side ;  and,  unconsciously  in- 
fluenced by  that,  he  had  planned  a  scene 
in  which  Teresa,  as  a  shepherdess,  should 
be  climbing  something  and  be  in  peril 
somehow  and  be  rescued  by  Rodriguez, 
as  sportsman,  with  one  of  Vincent's  bird- 
guns  slung  over  his  shoulder. 


seMra  villena  31 

"  Pshaw  !  What  shall  we  use  for  the 
stage  ?"  he  repeated  aloud. 

''  That  so,  bo-ee !"  a  merry  voice  an- 
swered ;  and  senora  Villena,  as  she  care- 
fully descended  the  polished  stairs,  greet- 
ed him  with  :  ''  Goo-morning  !  That  so  ; 
jes  what  I  tell  Concha.  Where  the 
stage  ?" 

A  good  laugh  blew  away  such  light 
first-thoughts  as  shepherdess  and  sports- 
man ;  but  nothing  more  substantial  offered 
itself  immediately  to  take  their  place. 

After  he  had  accompanied  senora  Vil- 
lena into  the  garden,  where  he  soon  left 
her  with  Gloria  and  the  others,  Vincent 
went  to  his  study.  Little  good  that  did 
him. 

He  sat  at  his  desk,  pen  in  hand  and 
writing-pad  before  him,  looking  very  seri- 
ous and  thinking  about  shepherdesses 
dressed  as  queens  or  Japanese  girls  or 
raving  beauties,  with  sportsmen  to  match, 
as  kings  or  minstrels  or  rich  old  gentle 
men.  It  was  no  use :  he  could  not  de- 
ceive even  himself. 

More  than  ever  persuaded  that  he  was 
stupid,  he  put  down  his  pen  and  went  out 
to  join  his  guests. 

It  was  ten  steps  from  the  back  piazza  to 


32  SENORA     VILLENA 

the  arbor,  where  they  all  were  met.  Vin- 
cent took  five  steps  toward  them,  and 
then  said  : 

"  Here  is  the  stage !" 

Gloria  saw  him  coming  and  arose  ;  Rod- 
riguez, who  was  nearest,  heard  him  and 
turned  around. 

"  Here  is  the  stage — right  here,"  Dr. 
Vincent  repeated. 

Then  explanations  followed.  Concha 
broached  her  plan,  and  all  applauded. 

"  It  come  to  me  like  that^''  Vincent  said  ; 
"  I  mean  about  the  stage.  Here  we  have 
the  very  thing.     This  arbor  in  the  center 

.     But  let  us  begin  at  the  beginning. 

Scene :  A  garden  in  the  rear  of  Vincent's 
house.  Right,  a  flight  of  steps  and  piazza. 
Left,  a  tennis-ground  and  high  stone  wall 


''Where  the  wall?  I  don'  see,"  senora 
Villena  interrupted. 

''  There  isn't  any  wall  now,"  said  Vin- 
cent ;  "  but  we  will  put  something  to  an- 
swer the  same  purpose. '  We  can  make  so 
much  play  out  of  a  wall.  To  continue, 
then :  A  high  stone  wall  on  the  left.  In 
the  background,  flowers  and  shrubbery. 
The  interior  of  the  arbor  is  visible  to 
spectators,  but  not  from  piazza." 


SENORA    VILLENA  JJ 

"  Who  are  the  spectators  ?"  Medina 
asked. 

"  Why,  all  of  us  who  are  not  acting-,  of 
course,"  Concha  explained. 

"  I  could  see  you  from  where  I  was  in 
the  arbor  just  now,"  Gloria  objected. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  Vincent,  "  if  you 
had  been  sitting  on  the  other  side,  which 
will  do  just  as  well  for  the  play,  you  could 
not  have  seen  me,  or  I  you." 

"  And  you,  sir,  have  the  play  ready  ?" 
asked  Rodriguez. 

"No,"  said  Vincent,  ''not  yet;  but  I 
begin  to  believe  that  the  Avay  to  get  it  is 
to  keep  my  eyes  open.  And  Medina,  who 
is  a  great  poet,  will  help  me  over  the  hard 
places." 

So  in  appreciative  unison  they  favored 
the  growth  of  this  little  dramatic  plant 
until  luncheon  time. 

These  things  and  others  which  are  to 
follow  were  said  and  done  because  senora 
Villena  woke  with  a  pain  in  her  shoulder. 


GLORIA 

HEN  they  sat  down  to  lunch, 
Vincent  found  at  his  place  a 
sheet  of  blotting-paper,  folded 
like  a  napkin. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  he  asked. 

Gloria  answered  sweetly  from  her  end 
of  the  table  :  "  Oh,  you  have  become  a 
literary  man  so  suddenly,  my  dear  Caran- 
gol "  (her  pet-name  for  him),  "  I  fancied 
you  might  prefer  it  to  dry  your  lips." 

"  I  have  n't  been  able  to  write  even  the 
first  word  yet,  my  dear,"  Vincent  said  ; 
"  so  if  you  please  I  will  take  a  napkin  as 
usual." 

"  Gloria,  you  are  a  meace !"  Concha 
cried.  "  I  could  bite  you  for  being  such  a 
sweet  meace  !" 

"  Excuse  me,  —  what  is  that  word 
'  meace  '  ?"  asked  Rodriguez.  ''  Is  it  Eng- 
lish ?  I  believe  not,  for  it  seems  from  the 
connection  in  which  you  use  it  to  signify 
so  much  that  is  complimentary." 

"  Not   English ;    no,  indeed,"  said  Con- 


SENORA    VILLENA  35 

cha.  ''  It  is  my  own  word,  and  yours, 
seilor,  if  you  like  it." 

''  I  have  thought,"  Medina  ventured, 
*'  that  '  meace  '  took  its  m  from  mouse,  its 
ea  from  neat,  and  its  ce  from  nice  :  so  that 
it  meant  a  nice,  neat,  mouse." 

Seiiora  Villena  clicked  with  her  tongue 
and  shook  her  head  impatiently.  "  Fly 
from  here  on  the  second,  straight  !"  she 
commanded.  *'Jou  can  spell,  bo-ee,  after 
all?     Don' say,  bo-ee.     Caramba  !" 

The  theatrical  exaggeration  of  scorn 
with  which  this  was  delivered  raised  a 
great  laugh,  which  all  found  not  less  ap- 
petizing than  the  first  course  of  luncheon, 
being  served  at  that  moment. 

What  was  said  for  a  brief  space  after 
that,  I  do  not  record.  It  makes  httle  dif- 
ference what  one  says  between  soup  and 
fish  :  everybody  laughs  instead  of  reply- 
ing. 

But  in  justice  to  Medina  I  must  state 
that  he  had  had  in  mind  a  derivation  for 
the  pet  name,  Carangol,  which  Gloria  had 
given  her  husband,  and  that  he  decided 
not  to  make  it  public  in  that  company, 
which  welcomed  light-hearted  humor,  but 
abhorred  labored  wit. 

When  they  had   reached  that  stage  in 


36  SENORA    VILLENA 

the  progress  of  the  meal  when  appetite 
lingers,  but  is  patient,  the  conversation 
became  so  general,  so  rapid  in  its  move- 
ment and  so  sudden  in  its  changes,  that  if 
I  am  to  give  even  a  small  portion  of  it  I 
must  not  stop  to  describe  attitudes  or  to 
distinguish  between  ''  he  said  "  and  ''  he 
exclaimed." 

Concha  :  I  think  that  Miss  Kelt  is  beau- 
tiful.    Do  you,  senor  ? 

Rodriguez  :  She  has  beautiful  hair. 

Concha :  You  do  not  think  her  beautiful, 
but  you  will  not  contradict  me. 

Rodriguez :  Have  you  ever  seen  her 
dance,  senora? 

Medina :  Rodriguez  means  that  she  is 
stiff.  He  is  a  polite  Socrates,  our  friend 
from  Sevilla :  he  suggests  his  disagree- 
ment in  some  fine,  indirect  way,  and 
makes  us  convince  ourselves. 

Teresa :  Where  did  the  Carters  live 
when  you  first  knew  them,  my  brother? 

Vincent:  In  rooms  in  Fiftieth-street. 
The  rooms  looked  as  though  some  one 
had  gone  away,  taking  with  him  every- 
thing he  wanted ;  but  that  was  not  Car- 
ter's fault. 

Gloria:  Mrs.  Carter's ? 


SEIZOR  A     VILLENA  jy 

Vincent :  No  :  a  rich  old  uncle's,  who  let 
them  remain  poor.  After  his  death  Car- 
ter moved  out  of  town,  and  I  don't  know 
of  a  pleasanter  home  than  that  he  has  now. 

Sefiora  Villena  :  Eh  ?  Mr.  Carter  is  that 
fonny  fellow,  no  ?  He  hass  call  '  Don 
Juan  '  '  Mr.  John,'  no  ? 

Vmcent :  He  is  more  than  funny :  he  is 
fine.  He  notices  things  like  this  :  When 
he  was  poor  he  kept  a  school  for  children. 
One  day  a  little  scholar,  a  boy  of  six  years, 
came  running  up  to  him,  dancing  with 
delight,  clapping  his  hands  and  crying : 
'  Mother  is  dead  !  I  am  so  glad,  for  I  am 
going  away  into  the  country  !' 

Medina :  I  passed  the  famous  Richard 
Blake  on  the  street  several  days  ago. 

Gloria  :  Indeed  !  How  was  he  looking  ? 
Did  you  speak  to  him  ? 

Medina  :  No,  sefiora.  He  gave  me,  to 
tell  the  truth,  rather  a  surly  nod — like  this 
(imitating).  I  did  not  care  to  speak  to 
him.  But,  on  thinking  it  over,  I  decided 
that  he  was  not  angry  with  me,  or  scorn- 
ing me  for  some  fault  I  was  at  the  time 
conscious  of  having  committed.  No ; 
more  probably  his  foot  pained  him,  be- 
cause his  boot-maker  had   made  a  misfit, 


3^  SENORA    VILLENA 

because  the  boot-maker's  son  had  taken 
Blake's  last  to  carve  into  an  image  of  St. 
Stephen,  like  the  picture  in  his  spelling- 
book.  Blake  gave  nie  a  surly  nod  because 
Stephen  was  stoned. 

Vincent :  Ah,  Medina,  you  are  my  man. 
You  are  engaged. 

Medina  :  For  what  ? 

Vincent :  To  write  our  play.  You  can 
wind  the  characters  up  in  a  plot  with 
complications  reaching  back  to  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden. 

Rodriguez :  I  have  heard  my  English 
friend  Mr.  Silverspoon  speak  of  this 
Blake.  He  has  said  that  Mr.  Blake  is  an 
eccentric,  and  too  serious,  too  earnest,  but 
a  worthy  man — oh,  yes,  very  solide.  And 
his  wife — charming  ! 

Teresa :  Margery  Blake  !  Yes,  she  is 
delicious. 

Medijia  :  The  idea  of  Jack  Silverspoon 
calling  another  man  eccentric !  That  is 
too  good. 

Gloria  (to  Rodriguez)  :  Did  the  original 
Mr.  Silverspoon  tell  3^ou  Mr.  Blake's 
strange  history,  senor? 

Rodriguez:  No,  sefiora,  he  has  not.  It 
is  true  he  once  began  ;  but  he  very  soon 
thought  of  something  different,  and — you 


SENORA    VI L  LENA  39 

know  how  he  is — he  forgot  the  story  to 
finish  it.  It  is,  I  think,  that  Mr.  Blake  has 
had  a  quarrel,  or  something  so,  with  his 
wife,  no? 

Gloria  :  A  quarrel  ?  Not  that,  sefior  ; 
but  he  separated  from  her  without  quar- 
reling— the  cold-blooded  wretch  !  And 
Margery  behaved  like  an  angel ! 

Vinceyit :  A  rather  frisky  angel,  my  dear. 

Seiiora  Villena :  What  those  things  of 
the  steam-boat — na,  na  ! — how  jou  call? — 
from  the  side  of  the  steam-boat  ?    Peddles  ? 

Vincent :  Paddle-wheels  ? 

Sefiora  Villena :  Tha's  it,  bo-ee  !  Good 
for  him  an'  for  her.  Caramba!  (filling  in 
the  sense  with  vigorous  gestures)  I  giver 
them  one  good  beating :  no  leetle — so  ! — 
liker  that  peddle-wheels.     Tha'  so  :  I  do. 

Gloria  (to  Rodriguez) :  I  am  sorry  you 
did  not  make  Mr.  Silverspoon  finish  tell- 
ing you,  senor.  He  met  the  Blakes  when 
they  were  separated — that  is,  they  were 
together  and  yet  separated.  It  was  very 
strange  ;  and  the  whole  story  is  so  roman- 
tic. Mr.  Silverspoon  is  an  intimate  friend 
of  the  Carters,  you  know,  and  he  met  them 
both  at  Mr.  Carter's  house.  His  acquaint- 
ance began  then,  at  the  most  interesting 
time. 


40  SENORA    VILLENA 

Rodriguez:  I  shall  be  glad  that  he  has 
not  completed,  senora,  if  you  will  there- 
fore be  so  kind  and  tell  me  this  history. 

Gloria:  I  warn  you  beforehand  that  it 
is  not  natural,  like  certain  ''  realistic"  nov- 
els, but  surprising,  like — like — 
Medina :  Like  fact. 

Rodriguez :  I  am  prepared  for  the  worst, 
senora:  I  sometimes  read  the  newspaper. 
But  excuse  me  for  mentioning  that  in  con- 
nection with  fact,  senor,  and  with  your 
friends'  experience,  senora. 

Gloria:  Part  of  it  did  come  out  in  the 
papers,  but  not  the  best  part.  All  of  our 
good  friends  here  know  from  the  hero  and 
heroine  themselves 

Vincent :  Gloria !  you  are  my  good  an- 
gel, as  usual. 

Gloria  :  What  is  it,  Carangolito  mio  ? 

Vincent :  Why,  the  plot  !  you  have  sug- 
gested it.  Don't  you  see?  Scene:  not 
my  garden,  but  Carter's.  Persons  repre- 
sented:  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carter,  Blake  and 
Mrs.  Blake,  and  Silverspoon.  Rodriguez, 
you  know  Jack  best :  you  will  do  him 

Teresa :  To  perfection. 

Gloria:  A  doubtful  compliment,  httle 
sister. 

Vincent:     Oh,    Jack    is   a   good    fellow. 


SEiVORA     VILLENA  41 

Compare  him  with  Professor  Jump,  for 
instance.  The  professor  is  a  fool  who 
pretends  to  be  clever,  while  Silverspoon 
is  a  clever  man  pretending  to  be  a  fool. 
I  can  fancy  Jack  saying  to  him  :  Profes- 
sor, I  am  your  inferior  and  humble  ser- 
vant; for  I  am  only  a  make-believe  fool, 
while  you  are  the  genuine  article  !  I  al- 
most wish,  for  the  sake  of  the  contrast,  that 
I  could  use  the  professor ;  but  after  all 
what  a  good  contrast  in  Carter  and  Blake  ! 
Carter  wears  a  holiday  countenance  from 
the  first  of  January  to  the  thirty-first  of 
December ;  Blake  from  the  thirty-first  of 
December  to  the  first  of  January.  Now, 
we  need  some  other  characters.  Let  me 
see.     There  is  Miss  Kelt,  for  example. 

Concha  (smiling  at  Rodriguez) :  Miss 
Kelt  has  been  pronounced  stiff  by  a  polite 
Socrates.  You  may  have  ugly  people  on 
the  stage,  Dr.  Vincent,  but  not  stiff  ones 
— never ! 

Vincent :  And,  besides,  she  really  was 
not  there,  at  Carter's.  Let's  stick  to  facts 
pretty  closely.  I  must  get  to  work  while 
the  enthusiasm  lasts.  Gloria,  send  my  tea 
to  the  library. 

Gloria :  Tea !  You  will  drink  tea  this 
afternoon  ? 


42  SENORA    VILLENA 

Vincent :  Well,  you  know  I  am  not  used 
to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  perhaps  a  gentle 
stimulant 

Senora  Villena  (filling  a  glass  with  sher- 
ry) :  Here,  bo-ee,  jou  drinker  that. 

Vincent  pledged  his  guests  in  the  sherry, 
and  then  excused  himself  and  went  im- 
mediately to  his  library. 

The  others  sat  at  table  until  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon,  the  gentlemen  smoking, 
all  telling  stories,  all  laughing,  all  discuss- 
ing opera  bouffe  and  singing  their  favorite 
passages.  Finally  Gloria  put  a  guitar  in 
Medina's  hands. 

Meantime  Vincent  was  seated  at  his 
desk.  His  face  was  much  less  serious 
than  it  had  been  in  the  morning,  and  the 
writing-pad  was  being  rapidly  used  up. 
He  wrote  what  he  had  seen,  what  he  had 
heard,  and  what  he  himself  thought  about 
it  all. 

When  Gloria  had  gone  out  to  get  the 
guitar  for  Medina,  she  had  sent  *'  that 
leetle  moankey  "  to  the  library  with  a  cup 
of  tea  and  a  very  short  note — in  fact,  three 
words,  scrawled  in  pencil  on  a  half-sheet 
of  scented  note-paper. 

Those  three  words  I  cannot  tell  you, 
for  they  were  of  a  language  which  has  no 


SENORA     VILLENA  43 

grammar.     Vincent  read  them    over  sev- 
eral times,  and  forgot  to  drink  his  tea  un- 
til it  had  become  cold. 
Gloria  was  a  meace. 


MEDINA 

AS  Medina  merely  Concha's  hus- 
band— conjux,  et  prceterea  nihil? 
Careless  observers  have  said 
that  he  was  that  and  nothing- 
more  ;  but  I  fancy  that  if  Ave  note  a  few 
characteristic  acts  we  shall  reach  a  some- 
what different  conchision. 

When  he  composed  a  song-  about  Cuba 
(or,  more  probably,  he  had  in  mind  Puerto 
Rico,  his  native  island)  he  insisted  in  that 
song  that  although  his  old  home  was, 
like  other  localities,  sometimes  visited  by 
storm-wind  and  dull  winter's  night,  3^et 
bathed  in  summer's  warmth  should  mem- 
ory hold  it  continually.  So  then,  he  was 
an  idealist. 

When  Miguel  had  asked  him  how  much 
candy  his  information  about  Concha's 
preference  was  worth,  Medina  replied, 
''  All  the  candy  in  the  world " :  a  thor- 
oughly ideal  conception. 

Now,  the  German  idealists, — those  who 
have  excellent  taste  in  the  matter  of  beer 


SEjVORA    VILLENA  4^ 

but  cannot  discriminate  between  senti^ 
ment  and  sentimentalism,  and  those  who 
eat  lemons  in  order  to  prolong  a  life  of 
destructive  criticism — we  know.  We  also 
know  the  English  idealist,  who  runs  and 
rows  a  great  deal  to  expand  his  chest,  who 
reads  Greek  a  httle  and  who  calls  himself 
ill  if  his  complexion  is  a  shade  less  bril- 
liant than  his  sister's.  These  types  we  all 
know  ;  but  w^hat  is  a  Spanish  idealist  ? 

Does  the  reader  remember — or,  better, 
has  he  seen — that  group  of  gentlemen 
with  coat-collars  turned  up,  hugging  the 
stove  in  the  office  of  the  Spanish  hotel  ? 
They  have  not  what  we  call  an  object  in 
life  :  they  have  an  enthusiasm,  or  nothing. 
Medina  was  one  of  those  before  he  saw 
Concha. 

''  I  have  known  only  one  man  whose  life 
was  perfect,"  he  used  to  say.  ''  That  man 
was  a  cobbler  who  lived  near  m}-  planta- 
tion in  Puerto  Rico.  While  he  was  at 
work  in  his  little  shop  he  would  sing.     A 

voice  !   like    Brignoli's    (poor,    dear 

Brignoli  !)  The  neighbors  would  flock 
together  to  listen  outside  his  window. 
Managers  of  opera  companies  visiting  the 
island  would  hear  about  him  and  offer  him 
great  sums  :  he  paid  no  attention  to  them. 


46  SENORA    VILLENA 

I  myself  have  proposed  to  give  him 
money  for  training  his  magnificent  voice. 
He  replied  :  '  Senor,  I  sing  because  I  am 
at  work.  If  you  like  to  hear  me,  send  me 
your  boots  to  mend.'  I  could  get  no 
other  answer.  That  cobbler  was  the  one 
happy  man." 

Since  his  marriage  Medina  had  told 
this  anecdote  only  once.     Then  he  said  : 

"  I  have  known  only  two  men  whose 
lives  were  perfect.  One  of  these  was  a 
cobbler  and  the  other  is  myself." 

He  saw  that  this  alteration  spoiled  the 
story,  and  therefore  ceased  repeating  it. 

The  enthusiasm  awakened  by  Concha 
had  drawn  him  away  from  the  stove, 
inspired  by  her  he  had  already  achieved 
more  than  some  of  us  ever  win  through 
steady  pursuit  of  our  ''  object  in  life." 
He  had  laid  his  hand  upon  happiness. 

The  idealist  had  found  and  gained  his 
ideal. 

The  Spanish  idealist  is  the  man  who 
seeks  a  woman  like  Concha.  The  class  is 
quite  large. 

Inspired  by  Concha  he  had  written 
much  verse,  and  had  even  allowed  some 
of  it  to  be  printed  in  literary  papers ;  but 
after   an  editor  or   compositor  of  one  of 


SENORA     VILLENA  47 

these  had  changed  his  "  darkness  and  the 
rain,"  so  that  it  read  "  hackmen  in  the  rain" 
he  swore  horribly  and  published  nothing 
further.  None  the  less  he  was  still  stimu- 
lated to  the  point  of  production  by  his  wife 
and  continued  to  compose  songs  for  her. 

I  do  not  wonder  at  his  persistence,  for 
if  she  liked  his  new  songs,  accompanied 
with  those  soft  chords  of  the  guitar  which 
are  to  the  voice  what  cream  is  to  food — 
making  almost  anything  good — she  would 
sing  with  him  ;  and  if  she  did  not  like  the 
song  she  would  go  to  him  and,  taking 
away  the  guitar,  would  herself  take  its 
place.     That  is  criticism  \vorth  having. 

It  is  plain  that  he  was  something  more 
than  Concha's  husband :  he  was  also  her 
lover. 

Vincent  had  been  steadily  at  work. 
Late  into  the  night  and  again  the  next 
morning,  after  his  walk  to  the  post-ofhce 
which  he  never  omitted,  he  had  been 
writing  rapidly.  In  the  afternoon  of  the 
second  day  he  called  Medina  to  his  aid. 

''  You  must  help  me  assign  the  parts," 
he  said. 

Medina  :  What !  You  have  written  your 
play  without  reference  to  the  actors? 


4S  SENORA    VILLENA 

Vincent :  On  the  contrary,  I  have  had 
them  in  mind  ;  but  there  are  some  diffi- 
culties. 

Medina  :  For  example  ? 

Vincejtt :  For  example,  Silverspoon.  Of 
course  Rodriguez  must  take  that  part 
because  he  knows  Jack  best.  But  Silver- 
spoon  speaks  such  extreme  English,  while 
Rodriguez  has  scarcely  learned  American, 
and  makes  even  that  "  walk  Spanish." 

Medina :    Trust   him   to   imitate or 

couldn't  you  show  by  the  spelling? 

Vincent :  I  never  could  see  the  point  of 
misspelling  English  words  to  show  that 
the  English  do  not  pronounce  them  as  we 
do. 

Medina  :  Perhaps  not  as  a  rule.  Well,  I 
will  go  over  the  part  with  him.  Have 
you  done  Jack  to  the  life  ? 

Vincent :  Tried  to.  There's  another 
trouble :  Jack  has  a  way  of  jumping 
around,  you  know  ;  and  Rodriguez  is  dig- 
nified. 

Medina :  Rodriguez  is  an  athlete  and 
will  be  glad  of  the  chance  to  show  his 
strength. 

Vincent :  Bravo  !  Medina.  You  are 
thorough  enough  to  be  a  Scot.  You 
crack  the  very  bones  of  a  subject  to  get 


SE.yORA     VILLENA  4^ 

at  its  marrow.  Then  there's  another 
thing  :     Who  can  do  Rose  ? 

Medina  :  Rose  ? 

Vincejit :  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  Rose 
was  the  nurse  the  Carters  had  at  the  time. 
We  couldn't  leave  her  out :  she  was  quite 
an  important  character.  Besides,  their 
baby  was  just  about  the  age  ours  is  now. 

Medina  :  I  don't  quite  see  what  to  do 
with  Rose.    Let  me  look  at  the  manuscript. 

They  read  the  part  together ;  then 

Vincent  (with  hesitation) :  Do  you  think 
Teresa 

Medina:  Teresa  as  an  Irish  servant  girl ! 

Vincent :  But  pretty,  you  know ;  and 
just  by  way  of  burlesque,  I  think  she  will 
consent. 

Medina :  Teresa  likes  to  surprise  people 
now  and  then.  She  reminds  me  of  an 
inactive  volcano.     Perhaps  she  will. 

Vincent  (walking  to  and  fro  in  the 
library) :  Then  comes  the  hardest  ques- 
tion. You  know  Carter's  grouty  old 
neighbor — the  mysterious  old  fellow  ? 

Medina:  Certainly.     Well? 

Vincent :  Well,  you  see,  you  are  to  be 
Blake  and  Rodriguez  to  be  Silverspoon 
and  I  to  be  Carter  :  that  uses  up  all  the 
men  in  the  company. 

4 


so  SENORA    VILLENA 

Medina:  But  you  have  not  provided 
a  part  for  seiiora  Villena.  She  is  a  finished 
actress :  she  will  play  the  neighbor,  al- 
though he  was  a  man. 

Vincent:  His  being  a  man  does  not 
trouble  me,  but  he  was  old — that's  the  rub. 
The  senora  will  never  submit  to  that. 
It  is  too  near  the  fact — to  her  the  one  ter- 
rible fact,  that  so  much  of  her  natural 
share  of  fun  is  in  the  past. 

Medina  :  I  will  get  your  wife  and  Con- 
cha to  persuade  her. 

Medina  found  Gloria  and  Concha  to- 
gether on  the  piazza.  When  he  had  stated 
the  difficulty  Concha  began  to  laugh,  and 
to  explain  her  merriment  told  them  how 
she  had  found  senora  Villena  very  melan- 
choly, and  how  she  had  persuaded  her 
that  she  was  not  old  by  suggesting  first  a 
soiree  and  then  a  play. 

Gloria  was  thoughtful  for  an  instant; 
then  she  said  :  Concha,  you  go  and  talk  to 
Coralie.  You  can  manage  her  best. 
Senor 

Mediria  :  Command  me,  senora. 

Gloria:  You  come  with  me  to  direct 
some  envelopes. 

The  word  soiree  had  been  spoken  :  that 


SEiVORA     VILLENA  51 

was  enough.  Gloria  said  to  herself : 
'*  Here  is  my  chance  to  start  something, 
too — as  well  as  Concha."  Quiet  and  dainty 
ladies  are  perhaps  not  jealous  of  a  friend's 
success,  but  they  are  certainly  watchful. 

So  she  and  Medina  wrote  invitations 
and  addresses  for  half-an-hour.  In  select- 
ing her  guests  she  tried  to  follow  out  her 
husband's  idea  of  bringing  together  people 
who  would  improve  each  other  by  con- 
trast, but  in  addition  to  that  she  prepared 
a  surprise. 

''  These  three  are  to  go  out  of  town," 
she  said,  handing  Medina  the  envelopes. 
"  There  are  the  stamps — in  that  little  box 
at  your  elbow.  You  must  not  tell  anyone 
that  I  have  invited  a  single  soul  except 
the  Oldhaveners.  Promise !  Now  how 
many  have  we  done  ?  Twenty  ?  One 
more,  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penman.  There  ! 
A  thousand  thanks,  senor.  Now  I  will 
send  them  off  before  Mr.  Vincent  comes 
out." 

The  invitations  were  for  Thursda}^  ev- 
ening of  the  following  week.  Like  the 
wind,  falling  upon  the  placid  surface  of  a 
sheltered  mirror-lake  and  troubling  it  for 
a  brief  space,  so  these  cards  of  invitation, 
addressed  in  Medina's  roundest  hand,  dis- 


S2  SENORA     VILLENA 

turbed  the  surface  of  society  in  Oldhaven, 
which  is  a  quiet  town  of  the  reflecting  and 
reflective  order  of  towns. 


MONDA  V 

Tan  imposible  seria  dejar  de  amarla,  como  hacer  que 
estas  aguas  no  mojasen,  ni  el  sol  con  sus  peinados  ca- 
bellos  no  nos  alumbrase. — Cervantes.  » 

Y  eleven  o'clock  on  Monday 
morning  everything  was  ready. 
The  roles  had  been  learned, 
the  difficult  passages  rehearsed, 
and  the  costumes  prepared.  Even  the 
weather  had  been  ordered  to  correspond 
with  their  intent,  and  a  bright  Monday 
gave  assurance  of  a  bright  week. 

All  that  they  had  sent  for  had  arrived, 
except  the  audience. 

''  Ca,  no,  I  do  not  do  that !"  the  senora 
Villena  had  declared.  ''Acter  myself  for 
no  public  an'  dresser  me  liker  yentelman 
for  nobodie — for  jes  jou  !  Caramba !  I 
teller  jou,  no  !" 

But  Vincent  had  scruples  against  invit- 
ing mere  acquaintances  to  look  on  while 
the  private  history  of  friends  was  being 
represented. 

''  We    don't    need    anyone    beside    our- 


54  SEK'ORA    VILLENA 

selves,  my  dear  Coralie,"  Concha  said. 
"  Suppose  we  should  send  out  tickets 
every  time  we  talk  about  people  we 
know !  This  is  only  a  better  way  of 
doing  what  we  do  so  often  for  our  own 
amusement." 

''  But  of  course  I  have  invited  my  own 
family,"  ^Gloria  said;  ''and  they  make 
quite  an  audience  in  themselves." 

''  Tha's  right,  beb6,  jou  doer  that,  or 
they  never  forgive  you  —  never!"  cried 
senora  Villena,  as  usual  failing  to  catch 
the  tense  of  the  verb. 

''And  they  know  the  story  already,  so 
there's  no  harm,"  said  Vincent. 

Before  twelve  o'clock  these  spectators 
arrived  from  the  station  in  two  carriages. 
Little  Alfredo  led  the  procession  from  the 
front  gate  to  the  house ;  next  came  fat 
senora  Diaz,  trying  in  vain  to  check  him 
with  hand  and  voice ;  next  came  the  still 
fatter  grandmother  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
cousin  Louis,  the  musician.  You  see  it 
was  very  warm :  therefore  the  mamita 
had  ventured  out  of  doors.  Last  of  all 
came  Isabelita  Diaz  rather  pensively, 
wishing  that  Manuel  had  become  a  mem- 
ber of  the  family  so  that  he  might  have 
been  invited.     "  Papa  dear"  had  not  mere- 


SE^ORA    VILLENA  S5 

ly  declined,  but  he  had  refused,  to  join  the 
party. 

You  should  have  heard  the  cries  of  joy 
when  these  guests  were  welcomed  at  the 
door,  the  gentlemen  embracing  each  other 
not  less  ardently  than  did  the  ladies :  all 
caressing,  admiring,  questioning  together 
— all  except  Fredo.  He  Avas  standing  on 
a  chair  and  making  faces  at  *'  that  leetle 
moankey."  Fredo  was  completely  fascin- 
ated by  the  shining  buttons  and  no  less 
shining  black  face  of  the  serving  boy. 
When  the  mother  and  mamita  went  up 
stairs  he  remained  behind,  and  great  was 
his  disappointment  when  buttons  offered 
to  go  away.  Jumping  down  from  the 
chair,  he  seized  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  he  asked. 

''  Mus'  be  goin'  now,"  said  the  negro 
impatiently. 

''Where?" 

"  Oh,  sugar  an'  molasses  pills  !"  But- 
tons resented  being  treated  like  a  strange 
animal. 

''  Sugaranmolassespill,"  Fredo  repeated, 
doubtfully.  ''And  where  is  that?  Is  it 
far  from  here  ?"  Buttons  disdained  to 
reply,  and  departed  in  a  very  stately 
manner. 


S6  SENORA     VILLENA 

"  Sugaranmolassespill,"  Fredo  repeated 
to  himself,  and  then  ran  upstairs.  '*  Mam- 
ma !"  he  cried,  "  what  is  sugaranmolasses- 
pill ?" 

"  Eh  !     What  is  that,  Fredo  ?" 

"  Sugaranmolassespill !  That  black  thing 
said  it.     What  does  it  mean  ?" 

Senora  Diaz  thoughtfully  put  her  finger 
to  her  lips,  repeating :  "  Sugaranmolasses 
— How  you  sa}^,  Fredo?" 

"  Pill,  pill,  sugaranmolassespill !" 

''  I  don't  know.  We  will  go  and  ask  the 
mamita." 

Together  they  went  into  an  adjoining 
room,  where  the  mamita  was  resting  after 
the  fatigue  of  her  walk  from  the  carriage 
to  the  second  story. 

''Mamita,"  said  senora  Diaz,  ''Fredo 
says  the  servant  called  him — How  do  you 
say,  Fredo  ?" 

"  No,  no,  mamma,  I  will  tell  the  mamita. 
It  was  thus."  With  many  gestures  he  de- 
scribed the  scene. 

When  he  had  pronounced  the  long 
word,  "  Eh !"  said  the  mamita,  "  say  it 
again  more  slowly." 

Fredo  repeated. 

"  I  don't  know.  Molaspil  ?  Maybe  it  is 
an  animal." 


SENORA    VILLENA  57 

"  It  would  seem  to  be  a  place,"  suggest- 
ed senora  Diaz. 

''  I  don't  know,  my  dear,  I  am  sure.  I 
fear  that  the  servant  has  said  some  bad 
words  in  English.  Never  say  it  again, 
Alfredo.  You  may  sit  down,  my  daugh- 
ter and  grandson" — for  they  had  remained 
standing,  as  a  mark  of  respect. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  afternoon  these 
five  spectators  were  seated  in  comfortable 
chairs,  placed  under  a  small  maple-tree 
and  facing  the  arbor  which  has  been  men- 
tioned, and  prepared  themselves  to  be 
entertained  by  the  seven  actors.  This 
they  did  by  consulting  the  following  pro- 
gramme : 

QL[)c  Neigl)bor. 

A     COMEDY  IN    THREE    DAYS. 
CHARACTERS. 

Paul  Carter.    A  Gentleman  of  Leisure.    Dr.  Vincent. 
Gladys  Carter.  His  Wife.  Mrs.  Vincent. 

Richard  Mason  Blake.     An  Amateur  Botanist. 

Senor  Medina. 
Margery  Blake.  His  Wife.  Seiioia  Medina. 

Jack  Silverspoon.     An  Eccentric  English  Artist, 

Friend  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carter.     Senor  Rodriguez. 
Rose.  A  Nurse.  Senorita  Teiesa  Diaz. 

Hole-in-the-Ground.    The  Neighbor.    Senora  Villcna. 


58  SEJVORA     VILLENA 

Scene :  Garden  in  the  rear  of  Carter's 
house.  In  the  center  is  an  arbor.  Right, 
a  flight  of  steps  and  piazza.  Left,  a  high 
stone  wall — not  a  real  stone  wall,  but  a 
very  good  imitation  in  wood.  Between 
arbor  and  wall,  a  lawn-tennis  ground.  In 
the  background,  flowers  and  shrubbery. 
The  interior  of  arbor  is  visible  from  audi- 
torium, that  is,  from  the  maple-tree,  but 
not  from  piazza. 

A  querulous  voice  is  heard  from  behind 
the  wall,  but  no  one  is  visible.  Then  an 
ash-barrel  is  thrown  over  the  wall.  A 
short  silence.  Then  Neighbor  looks  over 
the  wall. 

Neighbor :  I  be  even  with  that  Scotch- 
man !  Caramba  !      Somone    coming  ! 

(Disappears.) 

''  Mamita  !"  Alfredo  cried.  "  Do  you 
see,  eh,  mamita  ?  The  senora  Villena, 
with  the  hat  of  a  man  on,  eh  ?" 

"  Ssh  !"  said  mamita.     "-  It  is  a  play." 

(Carter  enters,  in  smoking-jacket  and 
slippers,  with  Blake,  disguised  as  gardener.) 

Carter :  And  here,  you  see,  I  keep  my 
rose-geraniums.  I  flatter  myself  that  there 
is  not  a  finer  lot  of  plants  in  the   State. 

Now,  my  man By  the  way,  what's 

your  name? 


SE.VORA    VILLENA  jp 

Blake  :  Schuldheiss,  sir.  • 

Carter  :  "  Schuld  "  what? 

Blake :  Schuldheiss,  sir. 

Carter  (genially) :  That  will  never  do  to 
call  you  by.  That  is  too  long.  What  is 
your  first  name  ? 

Blake  :  Karl,  sir. 

Carter  :  Good  !  I'll  call  you  Karl.  Now 
then,  Karl,  3^ou  understand  the  care  of 
fiowers  perfectly,  I  suppose  ? 

Blake :  Yes,  sir,  I  ought  to.     I  studied 

with I  mean  I  worked  for  the  Herr 

Professor  of  Botany  at  my  home  in  Ger- 
many. 

Carter :  It  seems  to  me  you  speak  Eng- 
lish remarkably  well  for  a  German.  How 
long  have  you  been  in  this  country  ? 

Blake :  Two  years,  sir  ;  but  I  studied 
English  at  school. 

Carter  (aside,  rubbing  his  hands) :  This 
is  highly  satisfactory.  This  is  splendid. 
He  is  trustworthy,  hardworking,  good- 
natured,  intelligent — extremely  intelligent. 
In  a  word  he  is  a  German.  (Turning  to 
Blake.  Aloud.)  I  am  right  glad  I  adver- 
tised for  a  German,  Karl.  The  last  gar- 
dener I  had  was  a  Scot,  who  kept  the 
place  beautifully,  to  be  sure  ;  but  stingy  ! 
Why,    he   used    to   scold    my    wife 


6o  SEJ^ORA     VILLENA 

Avhenever  she  picked  a  flower,  and  order 
me  off  the  grass  !  But  as  for  you,  Karl — 
I  can  read  character.  I  am  never  deceived 
by  appearances.  —  You  are  trustworthy, 
good-natured,  intelligent 

Blake:  Sir! 

Carter :  Yes  ;  you  need  not  try  to  deny 
it.  You  are  all  that  I  asked  for  in  my 
advertisement.  I  can  see  it  plainly.  You 
are  intelligent 

(Mrs.  Carter  [Gloria]  comes  out  of 
house.  She  stands  on  piazza,  holding  tele- 
gram in  hand.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  Paul !  Paul !  she  will  be 
here  to-morrow  ! 

Carter :  One  moment,  my  dear.  (To 
Blake.)  Now,  to  begin  with,  go  to  the 
tool-house,  get  some  twine  and  tie  up  the 
carnations. 

(Blake  goes  out  behind  arbor.) 

Carter :  Whom  were  you  speaking 
about,  my  dear  ? 

Mrs.  Carter :  Why,  Margery  Blake,  of 
course.  Are  you  not  glad  she's  coming  ? 
It  will  be  such  a  good  rest  for  her.  I 
wonder  if  she  will  be  as  handsome  as  she 
was  when  we  were  at  school  together. 
What  a  beast  her  husband  must  be. 

Carter  :   I  am  glad  your  friend  is  com- 


SENORA    VILLENA  6l 

ing  to  stay  with  us.  (Pauses  and  seems 
thoughtful.)     I  wonder 

Mrs.  Carter  (quickly) :  I  know  !  I  know 
what  you  are  going  to  say.  You  are 
wondering  if  the  poor  thing  has  any  hope 
or  spirit  left  in  her. 

Carter :  No,  not  exactly  that.  I  am 
trying  to  imagine  what  Hole -in -the 
Ground  has  thrown  over  the  wall  this 
morning. 

(Blake  enters,  bearing  ash-barrel.) 

Blake :  I  found  this  among  the  carna- 
tions, sir.     Several  of  them  were  crushed. 

Mrs.  Carter  :  What  a  shame  !  If  I  were 
in  your  place,  Mr.  Carter,  I  should  em- 
ploy a  mounted  policeman  to  protect  us 
from  that  old  brute,  that  old  bear ! 

Carter  :  Tut,  tut !  my  dear.  (To  Blake.) 
So,  our  agreeable  neighbor  has  sent  us  an 
ash-barrel  this  morning,  has  he  ?  You 
must  not  mind  little  things  like  that,  Karl. 
Sometimes  he  testifies  his  affection  by 
the  gift  of  a  large  bouquet  of  dock-weeds. 
We  have  come  to  expect  something  of 
that  sort  once  or  twice  each  day,  and 
really  I  fancy  we  should  feel  badly  if  our 
neighbor's  little  attentions  should  be  dis- 
continued. The  thing  began  when  your 
predecessor,    the    Scotch    gardener,    was 


62  SEXORA     VILLENA 

here  ;  and  I  guess  he  must  have  provoked 
old  Hole-in-the-Ground  in  some  way. 

Blake  :  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he,  sir  ? 

Carter :  People  say  he  is  a  miser,  and 
some  say  he  is  crazy.  But  as  we  never 
see  him  we  don't  believe  he  is  a  person  at 
all :  so  we  call  him  Hole-in-the-Ground. 

(Neighbor  puts  his  head  above  wall  and 
shakes  his  fist  at  Carter,  without  being 
seen.  Carter  puts  arm  around  Mrs.  Car- 
ter's waist  and  draws  her  away.  They 
walk  up  and  down  stage,  without  paying 
attention  to  Blake,  during  following  con- 
versation.) 

Carter:  It  is  the  only  imperfection  in 
our  otherwise  perfect  happiness,  isn't  it, 
Gladys  ? — and  we  may  afford  to  overlook 
such  a  trifling  annoyance,  mayn't  we, 
dear  ? 

Mrs.  Carter  (doubtfully)  :  Perhaps  we 
may. 

Carter :  Yes,  ours  is  certainly  the  ideal 
existence.  We  have  surrounded  ourselves 
with  all  those  things  which  make  life 
beautiful.     We  have  a  comfortable  house 


Mrs.  Carter :  And  you  have  your  garden. 
Carter:  You  share  the  benefit  of  that. 
And  you  have  your  baby. 


SEA'ORA    VILLENA  63 

Mrs.  Carter :  Don't  you  share  the  bene- 
fit of  that  ? 

Carter  (doubtfully) :  Yes.  (With  con- 
viction.) Yes,  oh,  yes !  And  you  have 
me. 

Mrs.  Carter:  And  you  have  me,  I  am 
sure  ! 

Carter :  But  to  my  mind  the  crowning 
charm  of  our  situation  is  that  we  live  well 
within  our  means,  so  that  we  can  give 
freely  to  those  who  need  assistance.  Ah  ! 
my  dear,  there's  no  pleasure  equal  to  that 
— to  be  able  to  give  freely. 

Mrs.  Carter  :  That  is  the  reason  why  I 
keep  a  puddle  for  the  robins  to  bathe  in, 
don't  you  see  ?  I  give  the  poor  robins  a 
free  bath — give  it  freely.  It  is  a  great 
pleasure. 

Carter  :  I  suspect  you  of  making  fun  of 
me. 

Mrs.  Carter:  Not  at  all!  Think  how 
fortunate  we  are  compared  with  poor 
Margery  Blake  ! 

(Blake,  hearing  this  name,  lets  ash-bar- 
rel fall.) 

Blake  (aside):  What! 

Carter :  Are  you  sure,  my  dear,  that 
Mr.  Blake  is  so  much  to  blame  in  this 
matter  ? 


64  SEJVORA     VILLENA 

Mrs.  Carter :  You  are  never  Avilling  to 
blame  anybody,  Paul !  I  am  out  of  pa- 
tience with  you  !  If  Mr.  Blake  is  not  to 
blame,  then  of  course  she  must  be.  Some- 
body has  done  wrong ;  and  it  is  a  great 
wrong  which  separates  husband  from  wife. 

Carter :  Perhaps  not.  It  may  be  only  a 
great  mistake. 

(Blake  sighs  and  takes  up  ash-barrel.) 

Carter:  Remember,  my  dear,  we  have 
never  met  this  Mr.  Blake,  and  we  have  no 
right  to  judge  him  without  knowing  the 
man  and  hearing  his  side  of  the  question. 
Hello  !     Here  comes  Silverspoon  ! 

Mrs.  Carter :  Here  comes  mamma's 
boobly-pink-palms-precious-treasure  ! 

(Teresa,  as  Rose,  in  a  snow-white  apron 
and  a  wonderfully  crisp  cap,  comes  for- 
ward from  background,  pushing  baby- 
carriage,  and  Silverspoon  [Rodriguez] 
hastening  after  her.) 

Silverspoon  (speaking  with  strong  Eng- 
lish accent) :  Maiden,  stay  !  Hasten  not, 
fair  maid.  (To  baby.)  Innocent  creature, 
will  you  have  a  flower?  Oh,  but  you 
must  not  eat  it !  (To  Rose.)  Does  the 
baby  eat  flowers  ? 

Rose  (aside,  looking  at  Silverspoon)  : 
Ach,  isn't  he  swate  ! 


SEiSTORA    VILLENA  65 

(Silverspoon  catches  sight  of  ash-barrel 
and  grasps  Carter's  arm.) 

Silverspoon :  There's  another  ! 

Carter  :  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Silverspoon :  I  mean,  my  dear  fellow, 
what  I  mean ;  and  I  say,  there's  another  ! 

Carter :  An  ash-barrel.     What  of  it  ? 

Silverspoon :  An  ash-barrel,  did  you  call 
it? 

Carter :  Yes. 

(Silverspoon  goes  up  to  ash-barrel  and 
looks  at  it  with  head  on  one  side.) 

Silverspoon :  Quaint,  antique,  lovely, 
odd  !     How  pleased  the  queen  will  be  ! 

Mrs.  Carter :  Why,  Mr.  Silverspoon, 
what  do  you  mean  ? 

Silverspoon :  My  dear  Mrs.  Carter,  all 
my  life  I  have  been  trying,  trying, — work- 
ing, you  understand — to  think  of  some- 
thing to  present  to  my  gracious  sovereign 
that  would  give  her  pleasure.  I  have 
traveled  almost  the  world  over,  vainly 
seeking  some  curiosity  worthy  of  her 
royal  highness,  and  have  failed  up  to  this 
time.  Worn  out  with  travel  in  ancient 
countries,  I  land  here  in  America,  and 
behold !  I  immediately  find  it.  I  tell 
you,  my  dear  sir,  (to  Carter)  my  fortune 
is  made  !     But  let  me  whisper  it,  for  fear 


66  SEJ^ORA    VILLENA 

some  roguish  person  might  catch  at  the 
idea  and  carry  it  out  and  so  ruin  my 
hopes.  I  mean  to  make  a  collection  of 
ash-barrels  and  send  them  to  the  queen. 

Carter-.  And  what  will  the  queen  do 
with  them  ? 

Silver  spoon :  Do  with  them  !  What  do 
you  think  she  will  do  them?  Put  apple 
jelly  in  them  ?  Why,  man,  they  will  be 
on  exhibition  at  the  Tower  of  London  ! 

Carter:  Carry  this  'thing  of  beauty* 
over  there,  Karl,  and  set  it  against  the 
wall,  where  Mr.  Silverspoon  may  see  it 
whenever  he  comes. 

(Blake  goes  out  as  directed.  Places 
barrel  against  the  wall  at  the  left.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  I  am  so  glad  you  are  to  be 
on  hand,  Mr.  Silverspoon,  to  help  enter- 
tain an  unfortunate  school  friend  of  mine 
who  is  coming  to  stay  with  us.  Perhaps 
you  read  in  the  papers  something  about 
the  separation  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard 
Blake  of  New-York. 

Silverspoon :  No,  I  have  never  read  an 
American  newspaper  since  one  of  them 
had  the  impertinence — the  beastly  assur- 
ance— to  make  fun  of  a  picture  of  mine, — 
and  a  good  picture,  Mrs.  Carter. 

Mrs.  Carter:  I  have  no  doubt  of  it — I 


SEmRA    VILLENA  67 

mean  that  the  picture  was  charming. 
Well,  it  is  but  right  that  you  should  know 
about  our  expected  guest.  Let  us  sit 
down,  and  Paul  and  I  will  tell  you. 

(They  enter  the  arbor.  Rose  goes  out, 
glancing  fondly  at  Silverspoon.) 

Mf's.  Carter:  There  were  many  guests 
that  evening.  Cravats  were  white  and 
dresses  were  sleeveless.  It  was  the  last  of 
Mrs.  Richard  Blake's  Wednesday  evenings 
at  home. 

Silverspoon :  This  is  going  to  be  interest- 
ing. 

Mrs.  Carter :  Supper  was  served  at 
twelve  o'clock.  The  supper-room  was 
large,  but  not  too  large  to  accommodate 
the  brilliant  company  of  society  people. 
In  the  center  was  a  round  table  of  polished 
oak.  Twenty  guests  were  seated  at  this, 
and  as  many  more  at  smaller  tables 

Carter  (interrupting) :  You  see  we  have 
the  particulars  from  a  person  who  was 
present.  Mrs.  Blake  was  said  to  be  the 
most  charming  hostess  in  the  world. 
People  came  to  enjoy  her  quite  as  much 
as  to  enjoy  the  feast  she  provided. 

Silverspoon :  Of  course. 

Carter :  No,  not  of  course,  for  her  sup- 
pers were  said   to  be  something  exquisite. 


68  SEJVORA     VILLENA 

Silverspoon :  Let  us  fancy  that  we  are 
present.  See  the  gleam  and  sparkle  of 
silver  and  crystal ;  see  that  pyramid  of 
roses  rising  from  a  bed  of  violets  ;  see 
those  silent  waiters,  who,  more  efficient 
than  the  genii  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  will 
bring  you  everything  you  desire  without 
putting  you  to  the  trouble  of  rubbing  a 
lamp  or  a  ring.  That  is  what  makes  such 
an  occasion  memorable.  For  the  time 
every  desire  of  which  you  are  conscious 
is  being  gratified. 

Mrs.  Carter :  See  Mrs.  Blake,  the  host- 
ess !  She  is  very  young — scarcely  more 
than  twenty ;  she  is  gay  ;  if  you  have  any 
good  point  she  will  discover  it  and  make 
the  most  of  it  while  you  are  at  her  house ; 
she  fascinates  you  by  her  self-confidence 
and  her  confidence  in  you ;  she  collects 
about  herself  the  merriest  spirits  of  the 
metropolis,  and  lo  !  when  they  are  met  she 
is  the  merriest  of  them  all ;  she  has  black 
eyes  which  see  everj^thing  and  read 
motives  easily ;  she  thinks  quickl}'-  and 
moves  quickly,  without  fear  of  mistake ; 
and  if  she  does  make  a  mistake,  it  passes 
for  something  clever. 

Silverspoon :    Splendid !      And   to   think 


SEI^ORA    VILLENA  6q 

that  she  is  going  to  be  here !  Please  go 
on.     What  happened  ? 

Carter :  One  of  the  guests  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  called  out :  'K  toast !  My  friends, 
I  propose  a  toast !' 

Silvcrspoon :  Let  us  play  it  out !  Here, 
you,  Carter,  be  Blake  ;  and  Mrs.  Carter, 
be  Mrs.  Blake  ;  and  I  shall  be  the  guests. 

Mrs.  Carter :  But  it  is  not  a  laughing 
matter,  Mr.  Silverspoon.  How  can  you 
make  light  of  anything  so  serious  ? 

Silverspoon  :  I  ?  Not  for  worlds  !  My 
dear  madame,  we  will  play  it  out  seri- 
ously. Now  then,  I  am  the  guest  propos- 
ing the  toast.  (Rises.)  Old  friends'  young 
wives  !  Their  graces  in  this  wine  we^ — a — 
we  pledge  !  (Applauds.)  And  now  I  am 
the«other  guests  applauding. 

Carter :  As  you  suggest,  the  toast  to 
the  ladies  was  greeted  with  loud  applause, 
and  the  guests  all  looked  to  Mr.  Blake, 
the  host,  to  respond.  We  have  never 
seen  Mr.  Blake,  but  we  have  heard  of  him 
as  a  very  polished  man  —  a  wit  and  a 
scholar,  especially  fond  of  botany,  who 
had  spent  most  of  his  life  abroad. 

Silverspoon  :  What  did  Blake  say  ? 

Carter :  Not  one  word  ! 

Silverspoon :  Beastly ! 


70  SENORA    VILLENA 

Carter :  This  silence  Avas  like  a  wet 
blanket.  The  company  began  to  feel  very 
uncomfortably,  and  the  gentleman  who 
had  proposed  the  toast,  trying  to  restore 
the  genial  tone,  cried  :  '  What !  Moody 
to-night,  Richard  !  Riding  a  dark  horse 
— black  care  mounted  behind  you  and 
that  sort  of  thing?  Confess  and  receive 
absolution.  What  is  it  ?  Come,  make  a 
clean  breast  and  we'll  forgive  you.'  But 
this  sally  was  a  flat  failure,  and  worse. 
People  shifted  uneasily  in  their  chairs. 
Some  looked  down  with  nervous  smiles, 
others  anxiously  studied  the  face  of  their 
host,  who  arose  slowly  and  glared  at  the 
unfortunate  guest  before  beginning  to 
speak. 

(Neighbor  cautiously  surveys  the  grpup 
in  arbor  with  expression  of  great  interest  in 
what  is  being  said.  Silverspoon  accom- 
panies Carter's  narrative  with  pantomime.) 

Carter :  Mr.  Blake  said  :  '  I  shall  tell  you 
why  I  do  not  respond  to  the  toast  which 
has  just  been  offered.  Perhaps  you  no- 
ticed'— here  he  pointed  to  his  wine-glass 
which  was  filled  to  the  brim — '  that  I  did 
not  drink  the  health  of  old  friends'  young 
wives.  I  did  not,  because  my  glass  is 
filled  not  with  wine  but  with  my  books' — 


SE^ORA    VILLENA  71 

Silver  Spoon  :  Eh  ? 

Carter :  '  So  is  yours  and  yours  and 
yours,'  continued  Blake,  calling  the 
guests  by  name ;  '  and  so  are  all  your 
glasses  filled,  and  you  are  all  drinking 
my  books  to  the  health  of  my  wife  and 
each  others'  wives  and  sweethearts  !' 

Mrs.  Carter :  His  wife  went  up  to  him 
and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  '  You  are 
not  well,  Richard,'  she  said  ;  but  he  con- 
tinued without  appearing  to  notice  her : 
'  You  thought  you  were  drinking  port, 
doctor,  and  you,  madame,  supposed  that 
to  be  champagne  ;  that  is  my  Chaucer,  sir, 
and  that  is  a  set  of  Dumas,  madame.'  And 
so  he  went  on 

Carter :  Staring  his  guests  in  the  face, 
with  diabolical  frankness,  like  this :  '  I  am 
sick  of  lying.  I  must  speak  the  truth  and 
I  can't  make  the  truth  distinct  enough 
to  satisfy  myself.  I  am  ruined  !  I  have 
pledged  my  library  at  last,  and  these 
things  are  bought  with  it.  I  have  no 
longer  the  ability  to  amuse  you.  I  have 
therefore  no  longer  any  claim  upon  you 
and  you  have  no  claim  upon  me.  This  is 
brutal,  but  I  mean  it.  Let  us  go  our  sev- 
eral ways.' 


72  SENORA    villena 

Mrs.  Carter :  Ugh  !  The  brute  !  Every 
time  I  think  of  it  it  makes  me  furious ! 

Carter:  I  must  say  for  my  part,  I  ad- 
mire plain  speaking  like  that — under  the 
circumstances.  It  is  honest  and  down- 
right. He  said  just  what  he  meant  and 
left  no  room  for  misunderstanding.  His 
wife  was  ruining  him  by  her  extrava- 
gance. He  had  warned  her  and  pointed 
out  the  consequences  without  effect. 
What  could  he  do  ?  He  stopped  short 
before  it  was  too  late,  left  her  enough  for 
her  comfortable  maintenance,  and  went 
out  to  seek  his  fortune  like  a  man,  with- 
out asking  favors  of  anyone. 

Mrs.  Carter:  And  I  say  it  was  harsh 
and  cruel !  She  was  young,  undeveloped, 
totally  without  training  or  experience — 
except  for  a  short  experience  of  frivolous 
society.  He  ought  at  least  to  have  given 
her  a  longer  trial. 

Carter :  Then  it  would  have  been  too 
late.  She  would  have  been  reduced  to 
poverty. 

Mrs.  Carter  :  But 


Carter:  Excuse  me,  my  dear,  but  I 
really — it  is  evident  that  we  cannot  agree 
on  that  subject — I  really  must  see  how 
the  new  gardener  is  getting  along. 


SENORA    VILLENA  73 

Mrs.  Carter:  Then  I'll  go  with  you. 
Mr.  Silverspoon,  won't  you  accompany 
us? 

Silverspoon:  Ah,  thank  you,  thank  you, 
no.  You  see,  my  dear  Mrs.  Carter,  there 
might  be  another  precious  art-object  com- 
ing over  the  Avail,  and  I  would  not  miss  it 
for  the  wealth  of  the  Indies. 

(Carter  goes  out.  Silverspoon  detains 
Mrs.  Carter.) 

Silverspoon :  Allow  me  one  question, 
Mrs.  Carter.     Is  she  pretty  ? 

Mrs.  Carter :  She  was  beautiful  when  I 
last  saw  her. 

Silverspoon:  What  has  become  of  the 
husband  ? 

Mrs.  Carter:  Nobody  seems  to  know. 
You  will  do  your  best  to  entertain  the 
poor  thing,  I  am  sure.  We  count  upon 
you. 

Silverspoon  :  Never  fear  !  You  will  see 
altogether  too  much  of  me,  perhaps. 

Mrs.  Carter :  Impossible  ! 

(Mrs.  Carter  goes  out.) 

Silverspoon :  Extraordinary  and  highly 
interesting ! 

(Takes  out  sketch-book  from  pocket  and 
begins  to  draw.) 

Silverspoon  :  I  suppose  these  people  think 


74  SEIZOR  A     VILLENA 

I  am  nothing  but  a  fool Believe  111 

just  take  advantage  of  being  alone  to  have 
a  whiff. 

(Fills  and  lights  his  pipe.) 

Silverspoon :  Now  for  my  part  I  say 
there's  no  such  fool  as  your  desperately 
serious  man— like  that  Blake  they  were 
talking  about,  for  instance.  What  an  ass  ! 
I  could  have  told  him  better.  I'd  have 
told  him  about  this  pipe — how  it  was  hot 
at  first,  and  when  I  smoked  twice  as  often 
as  usual  to  correct  that  fault  it  became 
bitter — and  how  I  was  about  to  give  it  up 
when  all  of  a  sudden  it  became  sweet. 
Blake  threw  his  pipe  away  instead  of  sea- 
soning it. 

(Mrs.  Blake  [Concha]  in  traveling  cos- 
tume, comes  out  on  piazza.  Standing 
there,  she  looks  about  without  perceiv- 
ing Silverspoon. 

Mrs.  Blake :  It  would  serve  me  right  if 
they  were  not  at  home. 

(Comes  down  steps.  Goes  to  arbor  and 
sees  Silverspoon,  who  is  holding  pencil  at 
arm's  length  to  measure  the  object  which 
he  is  sketching.  Silverspoon  rises  and 
bows.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  I  am  looking  for  Mrs.  Car- 
ter.    Are  you,  perhaps 


SEA^OJ^A    VILLENA  75 

Silverspooii :  Mis.  Carter  is  not  here, 
madame,  but  I  am. 

Mrs.  Blake  (cordially,  putting  out  her 
hand) :  I  am  so  glad  to  meet  you.  You 
know  Gladys  and  I  were  very  intimate 
and  she  has  written  me  all  about  you,  so 
I  feel  as  though  we  were  old  friends. 
What  a  lovely  home  you  have  !     And   I 

suppose (Hesitates.)     Have  you  any 

children  ? 

Silverspooii  (aside)  :  What  can  she  mean  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  Oh,  yes :  now  I  remember. 
You  have  one. 

Silverspooii  (aside) :  What  can  she  mean  ? 
(Aloud) :  Aw — you  are  the  lady  Mrs.  Car- 
ter was  expecting  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  (astonished) :  Yes.  I  came 
to-day — a  day  sooner  than  I  said — to  give 
you  all  a  surprise. 

Silverspooii :  You  have  ! 

Mrs.  Blake :  I  hope  Mrs.  Carter  is  well. 
Do  you  think  she  will  be  here  soon  ? 

Silverspooii  (collects  sketching  materials) : 
Won't  you  sit  down  a  moment  and  I'll  go 
and  find  her. 

Mrs.  Blake :  How  kind  of  you  ! — Such 
lovely  weather 

Silverspooii  (at  entrance  to  arbor) :  Did 
you    say   the    weather    was   lovely  ?     Did 


76  SEiYORA    VILLENA 

you  remark  that  the  weather  was  fine? 
Yes,  lovely  !  (Waves  sketch-book  wildly.) 
It  makes  me  feel  like  a  child  again  at 
home  in  England,  running  bareheaded 
through  the  meadows. 

(Mrs.  Carter  enters  and  stands  laughing 
at  Silverspoon.  Does  not  see  Mrs.  Blake, 
who  is  in  arbor.) 

Silverspoon :  Oh,  how  fresh  the  air  is ! 
See  me  !  Do  I  not  look  young,  light  and 
happy  ?  (Springs  into  air.)  See  how  gay 
I  am  !  I  am  picking  wild  flowers  !  Shall 
I  pick  some  for  you,  madame  ? 

Mrs.  Carter :  'Madame!'  (Hastens  tow- 
ards the  arbor  and  sees  Mrs.  Blake.)  Why, 
Margery ! 

(Mrs.  Blake  and  Mrs.  Carter  embrace.) 

Mrs.  Carter  (to  Silverspoon)  :  What  were 
you  doing  ? 

Silverspoon  (very  quietly) :  Only  trying 
to  entertain  Mrs.  Blake  as  you  told  me  to. 

Mrs.  Carter:  My  dear  child,  where  on 
earth  did  you  come  from  ?  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  you.  Do  you  know,  we  must  have 
misread  your  telegram,  for  we  thought 
you  were  coming  to-morrow.  Please  ex- 
cuse the  mistake.  You  must  be  tired. 
Come  with  me  this  instant  and  take  off 
your  bonnet.     I  am  so  anxious  for  you  to 


SEmi^A    VILLENA  77 

meet  my  husband.  He  will  be  here  pres- 
ently. He  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  gar- 
den 

Mrs.  Blake:  Who— is— this  ?  (Points  to 
Silverspoon.) 

Silverspoon  (bows) :  Mr.  Silverspoon,  art- 
ist. 

Mrs.  Carter:  Our  friend,  Mr.  Silver- 
spoon,—Mrs.  Blake— Pray  excuse  me— I 
judged  from  what  I  saw  that  you  had 
become  acquainted. 

Mrs.  Blake:  But— I— thought— //^/j:— was 
— ^your  husband. 

Mrs.  Carter :  Here  he  comes. 

(Carter  and  Blake  come  in.  Blake  is 
carrying  ferns  in  pots.  Puts  them  down 
between  arbor  and  piazza,  and  kneels  with 
back  to  arbor,  to  press  earth  about  their 
roots.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  Paul !  Paul !  Come  here  ! 
Here  is  Margery. 

(Blake  starts  ;  glances  over  his  shoulder, 
but  does  not  see  Mrs.  Blake,  who  is  still 
in  arbor.  Mrs.  Blake  comes  out  from 
arbor.  She  and  Carter  shake  hands  cor- 
dially.) 

Carter:    Welcome    to   our   home,    Mrs 
Blake ! 
(Blake  rises  and  turns  around.     Sees  his 


78  SENORA    vJlLENA 

wife.  Immediately  turns  his  back  and 
busies  himself  about  plants  again.) 

Blake  (aside) :  She  here  !  She  will  nev- 
er know  me  in  these  clothes. 

Mrs.  Blake:  I  thought  to  surprise  you, 
Mr.  Carter ;  but  I  think  I  am  the  most 
surprised  person  present,  thanks  to  Mr. 
Silverspoon. 

Carter:  What  have  you  been  up  to. 
Jack? 

Silverspoon:  Nothing.  Only  entertain- 
ing Mrs.  Blake  by  playing  the  fool. 

Carter  (laughs)  :  Sorry  I  was  not  here  to 
see,  old  man. 

Mrs.  Caj'ter :  Now  you  must  come  right 
into  the  house  with  me,  Margery.  I  know 
you  must  be  fatigued,  and  meeting  so 
many  people  you  never  saw  before  is 

(Mrs.  Blake  and  Mrs.  Carter  pass  from 
arbor  to  piazza.  As  they  pass  the  garden- 
er, Mrs.  Blake  glances  at  him.) 

Mrs.  Blake  (aside)  :  My  husband  ! 

(Mrs.  Blake  and  Mrs.  Carter  go  into  the 
house.  Carter  crosses  to  speak  to  Blake. 
Silverspoon  is  left  standing  alone  by  the 
arbor.) 

Silverspoon :  Gad  !  I  hope  the  husband 
will  never  come  back.  (Bows,  to  signify 
that  the  first  act  is  concluded  ;  then  comes 


sej7oi^a   villejva  79 

forward  to  help  Alfredo  descend  from  the 
lowest  branch  of  the  maple-tree,  where 
that  young  critic  had  climbed  during  the 
performance,  saying  that  he  always  pre- 
ferred the  gallery.) 


TUESDA  Y 

HEN,  on  the  following  day,  the 
five  spectators  had  taken  their 
places,  they  saw  Mrs.  Carter 
sewing  in  the  arbor  while  Mr. 
Carter  and  Mrs.  Blake  were  playing  ten- 
nis— a  game  which  Concha,  in  her  own 
character  and  upon  her  usual  high  heels, 
had  always  scorned. 

"  In  tennis-shoes  Concha  is  completely 
disguised,"  said  cousin  Louis,  the  musi- 
cian. 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Forty— fifteen  ! 

Carter  :  No.     That  was  out ! 

(A  tennis  ball,  struck  wildly,  flies  over 
wall.) 

Carter :  Oh  !     That  was  the  very  last ! 

Mrs.  Blake:  Then  I  suppose  we  will 
have  to  stop  playing.  Just  when  I  was 
sure  of  a  game  !     Have  you  not  one  more  ? 

Carter :  Not  a  single  one.  Old  Hole-in- 
the-Ground  has  got  them  all  finally.  A 
whole  dozen  this  summer  already  ! 


SEiWRA    villena  8i 

Mrs.  Blake  (draws  near  to  Carter. 
Mysteriously) :  Do  you  think  he  would 
hear  if  I  said  something  ? 

Carter:  No. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Then  I  won't  say  it. — Why 
don't  you  go  over  after  them  ? 

Carter :  I  have  not  strictly  the  right  to. 
That  would  be  trespass  ;  and  it  is  too 
small  a  matter  to  quarrel  about — the  loss 
of  a  few  tennis-balls. 

Mrs.  Blake:  You  say  you  have  never 
seen  him  ? 

Carter:  Never  distinctly  or  near  at 
hand.  He  is  a  mysterious  person  ; — lives 
all  alone — at  least  with  a  house-keeper  as 
old  and  almost  as  strange  as  himself — 
goes  and  comes  in  the  night 

Mrs.  Blake :  Goes  and  comes  ? 

Carter :  Goes  out  of  town,  I  suppose, 
and  always  at  night.  We  see  a  liverj^  car- 
riage at  the  door ;  it  drives  away  ;  that  is 
all.  A  few  days — sometimes  a  week  or  a 
month — afterwards,  he  returns  in  the  same 
fashion.  Otherwise  I  don't  believe  he 
goes  out  at  all. 

(Mrs.  Blake  crosses  tennis-court  to  wall, 
where  ash-barrel  is  still  standing.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  I  Avant  to  look  over. 

Carter :  Not  for  worlds  ! 


32  SE^ORA    VILLENA 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Why  not  ? 

Carter  (hesitating) :  That  would  spoil  all 
the  fun.  The  fact  is,  1  enjoy  this  mystery 
and  would  not  dispel  it  for  anything. 

Mrs.  Blake:  Please!  (Insisting.)  Please 
help  me  up  Mr.  Silverspoon's  'thing  of 
beauty.' 

Carter:  Promise  not  to  tell  me  what 
you  see  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  Yes. 

(Carter  assists  Mrs.  Blake  to  mount  ash- 
barrel.  Standing  there  she  looks  over 
wall  and  makes  signs  to  someone  on  other 
side.) 

Carter :  What  is  it  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  I  promised  not  to  tell.  It 
is  more  mysterious  than  imagination  can 
picture.     It  is  awful !     Help  me  down. 

(Carter  gives  Mrs.  Blake  his  hand. 
They  walk  slowly  towards  arbor.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  Have  you  really  never  seen 
your  neighbor's  garden  ? 

Carter :  Of  course  I  have  formerly  ; 
but  not  since  Hole-in-the-Ground  has  lived 
there.  He  took  the  place  less  than  a  year 
ago — or,  rather,  it  has  always  belonged  to 
him,  I  believe,  but  he  had  leased  it  ever 
since  we  have  lived  here,  and  he  only 
returned  last  year. 


SENORA    VILLENA  83 

Mrs,  Blake :  I  warn  you  not  to  try  to 
see  him.  Well,  since  we  must  stop  play- 
ing, I  think  I  will  sit  with  your  wife. 

Carter :  And  I'll  go  see  about  the  plants. 

Mrs.  Carter :  Paul  ! — I  shall  punish  the 
new  gardener  as  a  foe  to  my  domestic 
happiness  if  you  spend  all  your  time  with 
him.  He  must  be  an  extraordinary  per- 
son. 

Carter :  Your  observation  hits  the  mark 
as  usual,  my  dear.  He  is  a  treasure  !  So 
intelligent !  He  knows  the  botany  by 
heart. 

(Carter  goes  towards  background.  Mrs. 
Carter  hastens  after  him.) 

Mrs.  Carter  :  I  hate  myself  !  I  am  ugly 
and  a  perfect  fiend  ! 

Carter  :  My  dear  ! 

Mrs.  Carter:  You  need  not  deny  it. 
That  will  not  do  any  good.  I  have  my 
glass :  I  can  see.  Besides,  I  Avas  brought 
up  to  believe  that  I  was  the  ugliest  thing 
in  the  universe.  When  I  had  dressed  to 
go  out  in  the  evening  and  tried  my  best 
to  look  well,  the  first  thing  I'd  hear  from 
my  brothers  when  I  came  down  stairs 
would  be  this: — 'Gladys,  you  are  a 
fright !' 

Carter :  Excitement  is  extremely  becom- 


84  SENORA    VILLENA 

ing  to  you,  my  dear.  I  can  scarcely  keep 
my  hands  off  you.     This  is  my  answer. 

(Carter  takes  a  small  mirror  from  his 
pocket  and  holds  this  before  Mrs.  Carter's 
face.     She  dashes  it  to  the  ground.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  I  might  as  well  break  it 
that  way  as  by  looking  into  it ! 

Carter:  It  is  not  broken.  Look  again. 
You  have  good  taste,  child  :  you  cannot 
help  admiring  yourself. 

(Carter  holds  glass  before  his  wife's  face 
until  the  latter  looks  better  pleased.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  Promise  not  to  speak  to 
Karl? 

Carter :  May  I  not  watch  him  weed  the 
beets  ? 

(Carter  goes  out.) 

Mrs.  Carter  (aside)  :  I  must  and  I  shall 
and  I  will  get  rid  of  that  Karl  in  one  way 
or  another ! 

(Mrs.  Carter  and  Mrs.  Blake  seated  to- 
gether in  arbor.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  My  dear  Margery,  I  have 
an  idea.  It  came  to  me  just  now,  when  I 
was  cutting  down  these  skirts  for  Babel- 
kins.  See  them.  Aren't  they  pretty  ?  It 
seems  a  shame  to  spoil  them,  and  I  hate 
to  put  her  into  short  clothes.  She  will 
never  be  so  cunning  again. 


SEIZOR  A    VILLENA  Ss 

Mrs.  Blake :  They  are  exquisite,  my 
dear.     Why  don't  you  save  them  for 

(Mrs.  Carter  puts  her  hand  over  Mrs. 
Blake's  mouth.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  What  is  this  famous  idea  ? 

Mrs.  Carter :  You  know  what  a  nice 
girl  that  nurse  girl  of  mine  is, — rather 
green,  perhaps,  but  decidedly  pretty, — 
and  you  hear  what  a  nice  man  the  gar- 
dener is.  Now,  I  have  been  thinking 
what  a  splendid  couple  they  would  make. 
So  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  I  am  going 
to  throw  them  together  as  much  as  I  can 
and  see  whether  I  can't  make  a  match. 
Don't  you  think  it  is  a  charmingly  roman- 
tic idea  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  No  !  Not  at  all  !  Not  in 
the  least  degree ! 

Mrs.  Carter  :   Pray  why  not  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Why  not !  Because  I  think 
they  are  very  ill  suited  indeed  ! 

Mrs.  Carter  :  Why,  Margery  !  What  do 
you  mean  ?  In  what  way  are  they  ill 
suited  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  :  In  what  way  !  Why  in  every 

way  !       He   is   a   thousand   times The 

idea  is  perfectly  preposterous  ! 

Mrs.  Carter:  Well,  Margery,  I  think 
you   talk  without  having  any  foundation 


86  SENORA     VILLENA 

for  your  remarks.  Do  you  think  she  is 
too  nice  for  him  ?  Why,  you  don't  know 
how  nice  he  is,  Margery  dear.     You  have 

not  seen  so  much  of  him 

Mrs.  Blake :  Not  seen  so  much  of  him  ! 
That  makes  no  difference.  Anybody  could 
see  in  one  instant  that  he  is  a  thousand 
times  too  good  for  her ! 

Mrs.  Carter :  The  more  you  praise  him, 
the  more  I  become  convinced  that  I  must 
get  him  out  of  the  way.  You  must  see  it 
yourself,  dear  Margery.  Paul  is  com- 
pletely taken  up  with  the  man.  I  have  no 
benefit  of  my  husband  any  longer !  Now, 
if  I  can  only  make  Karl  spend  the  greater 

part  of  his  time  in  courting  Rose 

Mrs.  Blake:  The  greater  part  of  his 
time  courting  Rose  ! 

Mrs.  Carter :  Why,  yes,  don't  you  see? 
Mrs.  Blake:  I  see  that  Mr.  Carter  would 
be  angry,  and  very  likely  would  send  poor 
Karl  away  ! 

Mrs.  Carter :  All  the  better,  don't  you 
see  ?  I  am  sorry  you  disapprove,  for  I  was 
just  about  to  send  Rose  with  a  message  to 
Karl. 

Mrs.  Blake :  But  your  husband  has  just 
gone  to  speak  to  him.  Why  did  you  not 
send  the  message  by  him  ? 


SENORA    VILLENA  87 

Mrs.  Carter:  Because,  for  one  thing,  I 
did  not  want  Paul  to  know  that  I  had 
given  this  order,  and,  as  I  was  saying,  I  did 
want  to  throw  Karl  and  Rose  together. 

Mrs.  Blake  (majestically) :  No,  Gladys  ! 
Rather  than  place  a  poor,  innocent  young 
girl  in  such  an  embarrassing  position,  I 
will  take  the  message  myself.  (Aside.) 
Just  the  opportunity  I  have  been  waiting 
for. 

Mrs.  Carter:  How  can  you  suggest 
such  a  thing  ?  I  cannot  think  of  allowing 
my  guest  to  take  so  much  trouble.  I  will 
go.     (Starts  to  go.) 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Gladys  ! 

Mrs.  Carter :  Margery  ! 

Mrs.  Blake:  Perhaps  I  am  mistaken 
about — about  Karl. 

Mrs.  Carter  :  Well  ? 

Mrs.  Blake:  If  so,  I  should  have  op- 
portunity to  change  my  opinion.  Let  me 
go  and  see  him  now.  I  will  talk  with 
him,  and  if  I  find  that  he  is  only  a  supe- 
rior gardener, — I  am  sure  Rose  is  very 
nice  and  I  will  help  you  to, — I  will  enter 
into  your  plan. 

Mrs.  Carter  :  My  dear  Margery  !  How 
kind  and  good  of  you ! 

Mrs.  Blake  :  What  is  the  message  ? 


88  SENORA     VILLENA 

Mrs.  Carter  :  To  remove  that  unsightly 
ash-barrel.  You  see  I  do  not  want  Paul 
to  know.  He  might  insist  on  keeping  it 
— on  Mr.  Silverspoon's  account. 

Mrs.  Blake  (kisses  her) :  Very  well,  my 
dear.  (Going  ;  then  turning  back.)  And, 
Gladys,  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  from 
seeing  him  once,  perhaps ;  so  you  will 
help  me  to  see  him  as  often  as  you  can, 
won't  you  ? 

Mrs,  Carter :  Certainly.  Now  I  must 
go  into  the  house  to  get  a  pattern. 

(Mrs.  Carter  goes  into  house.  As  Mrs. 
Blake  goes  towards  background,  Blake 
comes  forward  with  rake  in  his  hand. 
They  meet.  Blake  turns  aside.  Mrs. 
Blake  stops.) 

Blake  (takes  off  his  hat)  :  Can  I  do  any- 
thing for  you.  Miss  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Richard  ! 

Blake :  Karl,  Miss. 

Mrs.  Blake:  Karl,  Mrs.  Carter— begs 
you  to — to  remove  the  ash-barrel. 

Blake :  All  right.  Miss.     (Starts  to  go.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  May  I  go  with  you,  Ri 

Karl? 

(Blake  goes  across  tennis-ground  to 
wall.  Mrs.  Blake  follows.  Blake  puts 
down  rake  and  takes  up  ash-barrel.) 


SENORA     VILLENA  Sq 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Karl. 

Blake  (impatiently)  :  Well,  Miss  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  Let  me  carry  this  for  you, 
Karl  ? 

(Takes  up  rake.) 

Blake  (savagely)  :     Yes. 

Mrs.  Blake:  Oh,  Richard!  Why  do 
you  keep  up  this  disguise  with  me  ?  I 
thought  the  time  for  disguises  had  passed, 
since  you  have  let  me  see  the  whole  bitter 
truth.     Can't  you  forgive  me,  Richard  ? 

Blake:  I  have  forgiven  you.  I  do  not 
even  blame  you.  It  was  my  own  fault 
that  I  did  not  restrain  you.  There  is  no 
use  of  talking  about  it  now.  The  fact 
cannot  be  altered ;  and  it  might  be  a 
great  deal  worse.  I  left  you  sufficient 
means  to  live  at  your  ease — in  the  only 
way  you  could  live 

(Mrs.  Blake  makes  gesture  of  protest.) 

Blake :  As  for  me,  I  am  content  and 
happy  enough  in  this  work.  (Bitterly.) 
You  remember  my  old  taste  for  horti- 
culture. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Oh,  forgive  me,  forgive 
me,  Richard !  You  have  not  forgiven 
me,  or  you  would  say  that  you  love  me. 
You  are  cold,  cold  to  me,  because  you 
think  only  of  my  past  folly.     Believe  me, 


go  SEIZOR  A    VI L  LENA 

I  had  rather  live  in  the  most  abject  pov- 
erty with  you  than  in  luxury  without  you. 
Oh,  you  must  believe  me  ! 

Blake  :  I  cannot  believe  that.  No ;  the 
course  I  have  taken  is  the  only  one  for 
3^our  happiness  and  for  my  own.  If  I 
should  listen  to  you  now,  and  try  again  to 
meet  your  wishes,  the  old  story  would  be 
repeated.  I  am  no  longer  able  to  satisfy 
your  demand  for  costly  amusements.  I 
have  left  you  enough  for  one :  it  is  too  lit- 
tle for  both  of  us. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Then  let  me  be  a  servant 
also  !  Anything — I  would  do  anything  to 
help  you — husband  ! 

Blake  :  I  do  not  believe  it. 

(Blake  turns  sharply  and  goes  out.  Mrs. 
Blake,  in  great  distress,  leans  against  the 
wall,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Neighbor  peers  cautiously  over  wall. 
Does  not  at  first  see  Mrs.  Blake.  Then 
coughs,  to  call  her  attention.  Mrs.  Blake, 
startled,  looks  up.) 

Neighbor :  Hear  every  word  of  it. 

Mrs.  Blake :  And  you  are  ashamed  ? 

Neighbor :  No.     Ashamed  ?     No. 

Mrs.  Blake  (going) :  Then  you  are  no 
better  than  your  reputation. 

Neighbor  :  Perhapsly.     Com'  here. 


seMora   villena  gi 

(Mrs.  Blake  pauses.) 

Neighbor  :  Jou  mean  it  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  Do  I  mean  what  ? 

Neighbor  :  Want  him  back  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  Yes,  of  course  I  desire  to 
be  reconciled  with  my  very  own  husband. 
But  what  is  that  to  you?  What  right 
have  you  to  interfere? 

Neighbor  :  Jou  do  it. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Do  what  ?    What  shall  I  do  ? 

Neighbor :  What  jou  say. 

Mrs.  Blake:  Descend  to  his  level  and 
work  as  he  does  ? 

Neighbor  (nods  vigorously) :  Jes.  Ser- 
vant. 

Mrs.  Blake:  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  I  am  really  to  go  out  to  work  as  a 
servant  girl  ? — Where  ? 

Neighbor :  My  house. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Ugh  ! 

Neighbor :  Piece  of  advice.  Ca,  some- 
bodie  com'  !     (Disappears.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  Go  to  that  house  ?  Never  ! 
I  work  as  a  servant  ?  (Looks  at  her  hands. 
Shrugs  her  shoulders.  Then  bitterly.) 
What  difference  does  it  make  whether  my 
hands  are  fine  or  not,  if  he  does  not  care  ! 
(Sudden  idea.)  If  I  could  make  him  jeal- 
ous— (Another  idea.)     Silverspoon  ! 


^2  SENORA     VILLEiVA 

(Mrs.  Carter  comes  from  house.) 

Mrs.   Carter :  Well,  Margery,   what  do 

you  think  of  him  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  (having  Silverspoon  in 
mind) :  He  is  a  refreshing  original.  I 
don't  wonder  that  you  are  so  fond  of  him. 

(Mrs.  Carter  is  offended.) 

Mrs.  Blake:  Oh,  forgive  me,  Gladys 
dear !  I  was  thinking  of  something  else. 
Come,  I  will  go  into  the  house  with  you. 
I  know  you  have  something  to  do,  and 
you  must  not  make  a  stranger  of  me. 

(Mrs.  Carter  and  Mrs.  Blake  go  into 
house.  Blake  comes  forward  from  back- 
ground alone,  working.) 

Blake:  How  familiar  everything  here 
seems ;  yet  it  is  impossible  that  I  should 
remember.  I  was  only  five  or  six  years 
old  when  I  was  taken  aAva}^ ;  and,  besides, 
most  of  the  features  of  the  scene  must 
have  changed  since  that  time.  Of  course 
that  ugly  wall  was  not  there,  for  this  gar- 
den was  part  of  my  father's  estate.  My 
father  ! — What  a  strange  thing  for  a  father 
to  do  !  To  let  me  remain  in  ignorance  of 
my  parentage — supposing  myself  to  be  an 
orphan — under  the  care  of  a  guardian  un- 
til 1  became  of  age,  and  then  to  permit 
me  to  travel  about  all  over  the  world,  for 


SENORA    VILLENA  QJ 

years,  supposing  that  I  had  no  home  ! 
Incredible  !  I  should  not  believe  it  possi- 
ble— if  I  did  not  know  it  to  be  true.  And 
all  this  time  my  father  has  been  alive,  liv- 
ing alone,  friendless,  hating  the  world,  and, 
I  fear,  hated  by  the  world, — kind  to  me 
alone  ;  making  himself  a  miser  so  that  I 
might  have  abundance.  Now  I  return  to 
my  birthplace,  a  ruined  man,  ashamed  to 
make  myself  or  my  wants  known  to  my 
father.  Appeal  to  him  now  ! — He  would 
think  that  my  necessity  and  not  my  affec- 
tion led  me  to  him.  And  then,  such  an 
evil-tempered  old  gentleman  he  turns  out 
to  be  !  How  would  such  a  man  receive  me  ? 
I  must  wait,  at  least  until  I  have  learned 
more  about  him.  But  yet,  if  he  had  not 
always  watched  over  me  like  a  guardian 
spirit,  how  could  he  have  known  the 
moment  of  my  need  and  sent  me  word  in 
the  nick  of  time  that  he  was  living  and 
would  welcome  me  at  the  old  home  ? 

(Falls  to  work  energetically  ;  then  sud- 
denly stops,  as  though  struck  by  an  idea.) 

Blake :  Is  Margery's  being  here  an  acci- 
dent or  the  work  of  that  providence  living 
on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  ?  How  did 
it  happen  that  the  Carters  invited  her  to 
visit  them  at  this  particular  time?     The 


94  SEiWRA    villena 

thought  of  such  a  thing  never  entered  my 
head,  or  of  course  I  should  not  have  ap- 
plied for  this  position.  And  yet  I  can't 
say  that  I  am  altogether  sorry.  She  will 
naturally  keep  my  secret,  and  in  a  few 
days  she  will  go  away  and  leave  me  in 
peace.  If  she  stayed  longer  she'd  drive 
me  crazy  !  She  fascinates  me.  In  spite 
of  everything,  I  worship  her  ;  and  if  she 
should  give  me  the  least  reason  to  hope 
that  she  is  capable  of  anything  but  frivol- 
ity   I  was  harsh  with  her  yester- 
day. 

(Picks  a  bouquet.) 

Blake :  Some  of  her  favorite  flowers : 
for  that  reason  she  will  know  they  come 
from  me.  I'll  leave  them  here,  where  she 
will  find  them. 

(Puts  flowers  on  bench  in  arbor.  Mrs. 
Blake  and  Silverspoon  come  out  of  house 
and  walk  towards  the  arbor,  the  former 
with  small  sewing-basket  in  her  hand,  the 
latter  with  book  and  sketch-book.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  Let  us  sit  here,  Mr.  Silver- 
spoon,  and  you  may  read  aloud  while  I 
embroider. 

(Enters  arbor,  Silverspoon  following. 
Mrs.  Blake  opens  her  work  and  begins  to 
sew.) 


SENORA    VILLENA  pS 

Silverspoon  :  No,  I  will  not  read  aloud. 

Mrs,  Blake  :  What  ? 

Silverspoon  :  I  say  I  will  not  read. 

Mrs,  Blake :  Why  ? 

Silverspoon  :  Because  I  have  something 
much  better  to  do. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Well,  then,  you  may  sketch 
me  if  you  like  ;  and  if  it  is  a  good  likeness 
you  may  keep  it. 

Silverspoon  /Do  you  mean  it  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Most  certainly.  Am  I  sit- 
ting right  ?     Pose  me. 

Silverspoon  (takes  up  the  bunch  of  flow- 
ers) :  Now  please  ptit  down  your  em- 
broidery and  hold  these  flowers  and 

Mrs.  Blake :  Why,  where  did  they 
come  from  ?  Heliotropes  —  my  favorite 
flower ! 

Silverspoon  (with  a  lofty  air)  :  They  were 
sent  me. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Sent  to  you  ! 

Silverspoon  :  I  said  so. 

Mrs.  Blake :  For  pity's  sake,  by  whom  ? 

Silverspoon :  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure. 
One  of  the  many  persons  who  admire  me 
intensely.  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Blake,  al- 
low me  to  pose  you.  Please  don't  pay 
any  attention  to  these  flowers.  I  assure 
you  it  is  an  every -day  occurrence. 


g6  SEJ70RA    VILLENA 

Mrs.  Blake:  I  do  not  believe  they  are 
yours  at  all.     Where  did  you  find  them  ? 

Silver  spoon  :  '  Find  them  ' !  I  tell  you 
they  were  sent  to  me.  In  fact,  when  I 
heard  you  exclaim,  I  half  accused  you  of 
being  the  donor. 

Mrs.  Blake:  Dear  Mr.  Silverspoon,  if 
you  tell  me  where  you  found  them,  I  will 
give  you  a  boutonniere  for  yourself. 

Silverspoon :  And  I  tell  you,  my  dear, 
dear  Mrs.  Blake,  that  they  were  sent  me. 

Mrs.  Blake:  I  don't  believe  it;  and  to 
show  you  that  I  do  not,  I  am  going  to 
keep  them  all  myself. 

Silverspoon  (shedding  imaginary  tears) : 
Very  well.  If  you  rob  me  of  my  rights,  I 
shall  try  to  bear  it  like  a  man. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Come  !  Please  pose  me. 
See  how  nice  I  look  with  these  flowers — 
so  !     (Striking  an  attitude.) 

Silverspoon :  Charming !  If  you  will 
only  stand  just  so,  I  shall  have  you  on 
paper  in  about  four  minutes. 

Mrs.  Blake :  How  fearful  that  will  be  ! 
I  think  I  shall  move. 

Silverspoon :  I  beg  of  you,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Blake,  do  not  move.  If  you  stand  so  for 
only  five  seconds  longer,  I  will  tell  you 
who  sent  you  the  flowers. 


SEI^ORA    VILLENA  p/ 

Blake  (looking  up  from  his  work,  aside)  : 
What  is  the  fool  going  to  say  ? 

Mrs.  Blake:  So  they  were  sent  to  me. 
Oh,  I  know  !— Mr.  Carter? 

Silverspoon  :  No,  fair  lady.     It  was  I. 

Blake:  Oh! 

(Silverspoon  and  Mrs.  Blake  look  a- 
round.) 

Silverspoon:  He  must  be  ill,  poor  fel- 
low. 

Blake :  Ah  !     (Goes  out.) 

Mrs,  Blake:  Thank  you,  Mr.  Silver- 
spoon. I  am  glad  to  know  who  sent 
them.     Karl ! 

(Blake  turns  back.  Mrs.  Blake  goes  to 
him.) 

Mrs,  Blake :  Karl,  I  am  very  anxious  to 
keep  these  a  long  while.  What  is  the  best 
way  to  preserve  them  ? 

Blake  (gruffly):  Don't  keep  them  at 
all! 

Mrs,  Blake :  It  is  not  a  success  !  I  can't 
flirt  with  Mr.  Silverspoon  ! 

Blake :  No,  decidedly  it  is  not  a  success. 

Silverspoon :  You  cannot  flirt  with  Mr. 
Silverspoon  !  I  don't  see  why  you  need 
tell  the  gardener  ! 

(Blake  goes  out.) 

Silverspoon :  What  do  you  mean  ? 


g8  SEmRA    VILLENA 

Mrs,  Blake:  I  mean  that  I  have  been 
trying  my  best  to  flirt  with  you  and  have 
not  succeeded. 

Silver  spoon  :  Is  it  my  fault  ?  I  am  sorry. 
Won't  you  try  it  again  ? 

Mrs.  Blake:  It  would  not  do  any  good, 
now  that  Karl  has  gone  away. 

Silverspoon  :  Karl !  The  gardener  !  In 
Heaven's  name,  what  has  Karl  to  do  with 
it? 

Mrs.  Blake :  I  wanted  to  make  him  jeal- 
ous, don't  you  know  ? 

Silverspoon:  You  wanted  to  make  the 
gardener  jealous  !  He  !  Gardener  !  Jeal- 
ous— of  me ! 

Mrs.  Blake :  Yes,  jealous — of  you.  Don't 
you  see  ? 

Silverspoon  :  Don't  I  see  ?  No,  I  confess 
I  do  not  see.  I  protest !  (Reflecting.)  I 
think  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  a  secret. 

Mrs.  Blake:  Do. 

Silverspoon :  I  am  not  so  much  of  a  fool 
as  I  appear.  Sometimes  I  may  be  taken 
seriously. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Oh,  if  you  are  serious  you 
must  go  away.     Fly  ! 

Silverspoon  :  Really  ?     But 

Mrs.  Blake :  Not  one  word  !     Go  ! 

(Silverspoon  goes  out.    Mrs.  Blake  goes 


SENORA    VILLENA  gg 

quickly  to  the  wall  and  throws  the  bou- 
quet over.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  Now  I  must  go  after  them. 
He  sent  me  flowers.  He  does  love  me. 
I  will  show  him  w^hat  I  can  do  !  And  I 
think  a  cap  and  apron  will  be  very  becom- 
ing. 

(Neighbor  puts  head  above  wall.) 

Neighbor:  Well? 

Mrs,  Blake :  Well. 

Neighbor :  Jou  going  to  do  it  ? 

Mrs,  Blake :  Yes.  Will  you  make  me 
work  very  hard  ? 

Neighbor :  Verie  hard.  Oh,  jes,  verie 
much  ! 

Mrs,  Blake :  I  am  coming,  anyhow. 

Neighbor :  When  ? 

Mrs,  Blake :  This  evening. 

(Neighbor  puts  finger  to  his  lips  and 
disappears.     Mrs.  Carter  comes  in.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  Alone  !  I  thought  I  heard 
you  talking  with  someone. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Mr.  Silverspoon  has  just 
gone  away. 

Mrs.  Carter :  Ah !  What  a  nice,  sur- 
prising man  he  is,  is  he  not,  Margery  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  Very. 

Mrs.  Carter :  How  thoughtful  you  are 
to-day,    dear    child.      (Puts    arm    around 


lOO  SEflORA    VJLLENA 

Mrs.  Blake.)  There,  dear,  don't  think 
about  it.  It  will  all  come  out  right  in 
the  end.  Your  husband  will  see  his  mis- 
take  

Mrs.  Blake :  My  husband  has  not  made 
any  mistake.     It  was  all  my  own  fault ! 

Mrs,  Carter:  There,  there,  dear.  Do 
not  think  about  it.  The  best  way  to  dis- 
pel one's  own  grief  is  to  interest  onesself 
in  plans  for  the  happiness  of  others.  For 
instance.  Rose  and  Karl — Have  you  made 
up  your  mind  to  assist  me  to  bring  them 
together  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Never  ! 

Mrs.  Carter  (reproachfully)  :  Why,  Mar- 
gery ! 

Mrs.  Blake :  Karl  is  my  husband  !  Karl 
is  Richard  Blake !  Karl  is  the  most 
shamefully  abused  and  —  abused  and  — 
abused  mortal !     And  all  by  me  ! 

Mrs.  Carter  :  Karl  your  husband  !  What 
is  he  doing  here — in  this  disguise  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  I  cannot  imagine ;  but  this 
I  know,  dear  Gladys :  instead  of  helping 
you  to  bring  Karl  and  Rose  together,  you 
must  help  me  to  bring  Karl  and  Margery 
together.  Oh,  how  clearly  I  see  my  mis- 
take now  !  What  you  have  told  me  of 
vour  own  happy  life — so  simple,  so  gener- 


SEmRA    VILLENA  lOI 

ous,  SO  noble — is  like  a  revelation  to  me. 
It  shows  me  my  own  folly  and  my  own 
selfishness. 

(They  enter  the  house.) 

"  Our  Spanish  women,"  said  cousin 
Louis,  the  musician,  speaking  w4th  confi- 
dence, as  the  only  man  in  the  audience, 
"are  frivolous  in  minor  points,  but  in 
matters  of  importance  they  are  obedient 
and  dependent.  Are  there  many  such 
untamed  creatures — such  little  tyrants — 
as  this  Margery  Blake?  I  should  think 
the  Americans  who  marry  them  could  do 
nothing  afterwards." 


WEDNESDA  Y 

T  the  close  of  the  second  act 
Rodriguez,  going  to  his  room 
to  dress  for  dinner,  had  passed 
Medina  in  the  hall. 
''  Do  you  not  think  the  audience  a  very 
cold — a  very  unresponsive  ?"  he  had  asked. 
"  They  have  not  thrown  one  thing  at  us." 
''  Wait  till  to-morrow,"  Medina  had  said. 
''  They  are  beginning  to  feel  at  home. 
Being  out-doors,  they  have  not  quite 
known  what  to  make  of  it.  When  they 
feel  the  liberty  of  the  theater,  look  out  for 
your  head  !  You  deserve  a  broken  one  for 
your  cockney  English  and  your  capers." 
It  is  perhaps  necessary  to  explain  that  this 
was  a  compliment. 

The  audience  did  feel  at  home  when  for 
the  third  time  they  took  their  chairs  under 
the  maple-tree. 

(Silverspoon  is  seen  walking  alone  up 
and  down  the  tennis-ground.) 

Silverspoon :    What   a    bore !      She    has 


SES^ORA    VILLENA  lOJ 

gone  away,  and  gone  away  thinking  me  a 
fool.  Gad,  but  I  caught  it  from  her  3^es- 
terday !  But  I  hadn't  done  anything. 
Perhaps  she  doesn't  like  me  because  I 
am  near-sighted.  And  she  went  and  told 
the  gardener — that  w^as  the  worst  of  it. 
This  comes  of  being  what  people  call 
funny.  And  just  look  at  that !  (Points 
to  ash-barrel.)  Carter  had  that  put  back 
for  m}^  sake.     He  takes  me  seriously  ! 

(Mrs.  Blake,  dressed  in  cap  and  apron, 
sitting  on  wall,  throws  an  apple  at  him. 
Silverspoon  is  startled,  but  does  not  look 
around.  Rose,  carrying  baby  in  her  arms, 
comes  in,  conceals  herself  behind  the  ar- 
bor and  observes  them.) 

Silverspoon  :  The  old  devil !  Firing  ap- 
ples at  me — me — as  though  he  did  not 
know  my  preference  for  ash-barrels  ! 

(Mrs.  Blake  throws  another  apple.) 

Silverspoon  :  Hello  !  Hello  !  I  say,  back 
there,  if  you  don't  stop  that,  Pll  come  and 
— come  and  pull  your  nose  off ! 

(Silverspoon  continues  to  walk.  Anoth- 
er apple.  He  turns  angrily,  sees  Mrs. 
Blake,  and  does  not  recognize  her.) 

Silverspoon  (aside) :  Oh  !  Deuced  good- 
looking  !  (Aloud.)  Was  it  you  who  threw^ 
the  apples?     I  thought   it  was   that  old 


I04  SE^ORA    VILLENA 

d  —  that  old  gentleman  who  lives  over 
there.  Pray  forgive  me  for  the  language 
I  employed.  'If  I  had  known  it  was  you, 
I  would  not  have  said  I  would  pull  your 
nose  off.  No,  indeed,  not  for  worlds. 
Your  nose  is  very  well  where  it  is,  and 
you  are  not  an  old  devil  by  any  means. 

(Mrs.  Blake  replies  by  gesture  only.) 

Silverspoon :  Oh,  I  say,  don't  be  too 
rough  on  a  fellow  for  a  simple  mistake. 
Pray  forgive  me. 

(Mrs.  Blake  repeats  gesture.) 

Silverspoon :  Ah,  I  see !  Deaf  and 
dumb  !  What  a  beauty  !  What  a  splen- 
did nose ! — it  must  be  a  great  comfort  to 
you.  If  I  did  not  know  that  Mrs.  Blake 
had  gone  away — I  wish  I  were  not  as 
blind  as  a  bat !  She  looks  so  much  like 
her  that  I  must  keep  up  the  same  flirta- 
tion. (Takes  out  sketch-book.)  I  must 
draw  her — not  draw  her  from  the  wall, 
but  on  the  wall.     I  must 

(Begins  to  sketch  her.  She  makes 
gesture  to  stop  him.  He  offers  to  put  up 
sketch-book.  She  nods  and  offers  flower. 
He  takes  it  and  puts  it  in  button-hole.) 

Silverspoon  :  How  sweet  of  her  !  Love- 
ly creature  ! 

Rose  (aside):  Isn't  he  illegant ! 


seNora   villena  ios 

(Mrs.  Blake  shakes  her  head  violently 
and  makes  motions.) 

Silverspoon  :  Not  for  me  ?  Not  for  me  ? 
Ah,  I  know  what  I'll  do.  (Takes  out 
sketch-book  and  writes.)  Not  for  me? 
(Shows  what  he  has  written  to  her.  She 
nods.) 

Silverspoon :  For  Mr.  Carter  ?  (Writes 
as  before.  She  shakes  her  head  and 
makes  gestures.) 

Silverspoon  :  Does  she  mean  sewing  ? 
Mrs.  Carter  ?  (Writes  as  before.  She 
shakes  her  head.) 

Silverspoon  :  Ah,  I  see.  Stupid  of  me ! 
That  gesture  means  holding  the  baby,  of 
course.  (Writes  as  before.)  For  Rose 
and  the  baby  ?  No  !  What  is  a  poor  fel- 
low to  do  ?  There's  nobody  left — except 
Karl !  (Writes  as  before.  She  assents.) 
Karl  ?  It  isn't !  It  cannot  be !  The 
beast !  That  infernal  gardener  interferes 
in  every  affair  with  the  women  that  I  be- 
gin !  It  will  be  so  with  the  queen.  When 
I  present  those  ash-barrels  to  her  majesty, 
Karl  will  be  there  to  get  all  the  credit 
and  all  the  smiles  ! 

(Gesture  by  Mrs.  Blake.) 

Silverspoon  :  Now  what  does  she  mean  ? 
Does  she  want  to  see  the  villain  ?    (Writes 


I06  SEiSrORA    VILLENA 

as  before.  She  assents.)  Just  my  luck  ! 
Well — (Sighs  deeply.     Exit.) 

Mrs.  Blake :  How  stupid  men  are  !  How 
they  deceive  themselves !  They  swear 
they  adore  us — and  really  fancy  they  do 
— when  it  is  not  us  at  all !  Every  hair  of 
our  head  is  precious.  (Puts  hand  to 
head.)  This  style  ten  dollars  !  The  very 
hem  of  our  gown  is  sacred  ;  but  a  little 
rouge  and  a  few  artificial  freckles  trans- 
form us  into  servant  girls  ! 

(Blake  comes  in  with  Silverspoon.  Mrs. 
Blake  motions  latter  to  retire.  Silver- 
spoon  goes  out,  followed  by  Rose.) 

Blake :  Margery  ! 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Sally,  sir. 

Blake :  What  do  you  mean  ;  and  what 
is  the  meaning  of  this  peculiar  costume  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  (imitating  Blake's  manner) : 
The  course  I  have  taken  is  the  only  one 
for  your  happiness  and  for  my  own.  I 
have  left  you  in  the  enjoyment  of  your 
chosen  occupation.  As  for  me,  I  am  con- 
tent and  happy  enough  in  this  work.  You 
remember  my  old  taste  for — masquerades. 

Blake :  Explain  !     Explain  ! 

Mrs.  Blake  (earnestly) :  You  said  you 
did  not  believe  me  capable  of  any  sacri- 
fice.    I  mean  to  prove  to  you   that  I  am. 


seKtora   villena  107 

Would  you  do  second  work  for  me — for 
my  sake  ? 

Blake  (laughs):     No. 

Mrs,  Blake  :  Well  ? 

Blake :  Margery,  you  are  adorable ! 
(Looks  around.)  There  is  nobody  to  see. 
Jump  down  and  I'll  kiss  you. 

Mrs.  Blake :  Oh,  no  !  I  have  not  proved 
it  yet.     That  will  take  time  ;  and   besides 


Blake :  And,  besides,  I  am  as  poor  as 
ever.  Is  that  what  you  were  going  to 
say? 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Nothing  of  the  kind  !  But 
that  reminds  me — since  you  want  to  make 
more  money — I  was  sent  with  a  message 
from  master.  Master  wants  to  know  if 
you   can  spare  any  time  to  work  for  him. 

Blake  :  For  him  ? 

Mrs.  Blake  :  For  him. 

Blake :  Judging  from  what  I  have 
heard,  he  must  be  a  disagreeable  person. 

Mrs.  Blake  :  Oh,  we  must  not  mind  a 
good  beating  once  in  a  while.  And  just 
think  what  fun  we'll  have  !  While  I  am 
scrubbing  the  kitchen  floor,  you  will  come 
in  with  the  potatoes — charming !  And 
Saturday  nights  you  will  go  out  to  the 
drunk  store  and    come    home — delicious  ! 


Io8  SEJ^ORA     VILLENA 

And  when  your  garden-clothes  get  over- 
ripe, what  bliss  to  patch  them  ! 

(Mrs.  Blake  disappears.  Blake  resumes 
his  work.  Silverspoon  enters,  followed 
by  Rose ;  and  their  by-play  excites  great 
commotion  among  the  audience.  Cousin 
Louis  and  Isabelita,  watching  Rodriguez, 
clap  their  hands  and  shout  ''  Bravo  !  Bra- 
vo !"  But  the  mother  and  mamita  are 
watching  Teresa  and  their  eyes  are 
stormy.  "  Ei  !  What  is  the  girl  think- 
ing about !  Can  she  not  behave  !  Shame ! 
Oxte  !  Teresa,  Teresita !"  they  cry  to  each 
other  and  to  her.) 

Silverspoon  (aside) :  Woe  !  Shall  I  nev- 
er escape  from  this  torment?  (Aloud.) 
What  do  you  mean  by  following  me, 
creature  ? 

Rose :  Crater,  indade  !  It's  mesel'  as 
knows  the  manin'  uv  a  glance  uv  the  oi, 
loike,  an'  yersel'  as  has  tould  me  a  swate 
sacret  wid  that  same  bright  pair 

Silverspoon :  Sweet  secret !     Oh  ! 

Rose :  He  gives  a  side  glance  and  looks 
down  :  look  out !  as  the  poet  says. 

Silverspoon  :  Confusion  and  torments  ! 

Rose  :  Faith  !  I  saw  ye  an'  yer  thricks 
wid  writin'  and  talkin'  tinder.  (Imitates.) 
'  What  a  beauty  !' 


SENORA    VILLENA  lOg 

"  The  Americans  call  those  things  *  ser- 
antsM  The  satire  is  just,"  shouted  cousin 
Louis.     ''  Brava,   Teresa  !     Bravo,   Rodri- 


guez !' 


Silverspoon :  What  in  tlie  world  can  I 
do?  If  I  go  that  way  (pointing  to  the 
house) — the  Carters  will  see  me  in  this 
ridiculous  scrape.  If  I  go  |hat  way 
(pointing  to  the  wall)  she  will  have  me 
in  a  corner.  If  I  take  refuge  in  the 
arbor  she  will  surround  me.  I  might  set 
my  back  against  the  wall  and  bid  her  defi- 
ance— but  no  !  Hole-in-the-Ground  would 
be  sure  to  hear.  I  would  climb  a  tree — 
but  that  would  spoil  my  crease.  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do  ? 

Rose  :  My  !  how  modest.  Would  it  help 
ye  any  ter  see  me  on  ther  wall,  shakin' 
me  hid  an'  movin'  me  hands  loike  her  ? 
There !  just  hould  on  ter  that  (gives  Sil- 
verspoon the  baby)  whilst  I  climb.  (Sit- 
ting on  wall.)  Up  I  am,  sur!  Och !  hould 
its  hid  up  sthraight  —  the  poor  helpless 
infant !  An'  pull  the  skirts  down  !  Don't 
ye  go  puttin'  yer  hand  on  ter  the  soft  spot, 
man  aloive  ! 

Silverspoon  :  Heaven  defend  me  !  What 
shall  I    do !     Sound    the   fire-alarm  ?     Put 


no  SENORA    VILLENA 

the   baby  in   the  ash-barrel  ?     Something 

must  be  done,  and  quickly,  too. My 

good  girl,  please  come  down? 

(Rose  shakes  her  head  and  makes  ges- 
tures in  imitation  of  Mrs.  Blake.  Mother 
and  mamita  have  decided  that  this  is  not 
the  place  to  say  and  do  what  Teresa's  con- 
duct calls  for.  They  have  also  decided 
what  they  will  say  and  do  to  both  Teresa 
and  Rodriguez  at  a  more  convenient 
season.  They  are  silent  and  terrible.  Isa- 
belita  and  Fredo  are  hysterical  with 
laughter.  Cousin  Louis  is  waving  his 
chair.) 

Silver  spoon  :  What  ?  I  beg  pardon,  I 
did  not  hear.  There's  a  dear,  good  girl, 
come  down,  come  down ! 

(Rose  repeats  gesture.) 

Silverspoon  (aside) :  She  expects  me  to 
say  something  flattering :  if  it  is  what  she 
can't  understand  it  will  answer  the  pur- 
pose quite  as  well.  I  must  think  up 
some  quotation.  (Reflects  a  moment;  then 
quotes. "^  '  Spirit  of  merciful  interpretation, 
angel  of  forgiveness  that  hearkenest  as  if 
forever  to  some  sweet  choir  of  far-off,  fe- 
male intercessions :  do  thou,  angel  that 
hearkenest,  do  ye,  choir  that  intercede, 
join    together    to   drive   away    that    dark 


SEJ^ORA     VILLENA  ITI 

spirit,  born  amid  the  gathering  mists  of 
remorse,  that  strides  after  me  in  pursuit 
from  forgotten  days,  overhanging  and 
overshadowing  my  head.' 

Cousin  Louis  sits  down  again.  His 
face  wears  an  expression  of  grief.  "  Bah  !" 
says  to  he  Isabelita,  "  that  is  not  good. 
That  is  strained,  overdone  !  Bah  !"  Isa- 
belita nods  assent.  Only  Fredo  continues 
to  laugh. 

In  the  midst  of  Silverspoon's  apostro- 
phe, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carter  come  in.  Mrs. 
Carter,  about  to  start  forward,  is  restrained 
by  Mr.  Carter. 

Mrs.  Carter :  My  poor  baby !  (Has- 
tens to  Silverspoon.)  Rose  ! — Mr.  Silver- 
spoon  ! — Are  you  all  crazy  ?  (Takes  baby 
from  Silverspoon.)  Mamma's  poor,  wee 
one ! 

Carter :  What  a  pity  to  interrupt  him, 
my  dear ! 

Mrs  Carter :  '  Interrupt,'  indeed  !    Rose  ! 


Silverspoon  :  Pray,  do  not  be  angry  with 
her,  Mrs.  Carter.  It  was  all  my  fault. 
You  see — you  see — I — in  fact,  I  wanted  to 
draw  her,  and  I  was  speaking  to  her  when 


112  SEmRA    VILLENA 

you  came  in  in  order  to  give  her  the  right 
expression,  don't  you  know  ? 

Carter :  The  expression  was  admirable, 
my  boy, — especially  of  her  feet. 

Mrs.  Carter :  If  you  gentlemen  think  it 
proper  to  joke  about  such  conduct,  I  do 
not  I 

(Carter  holds  the  pocket-mirror  before 
Mrs.  Carter's  face.) 

A'^^v  (sobbing) :  Please,  ma'am 

Silverspoon :  I  promise  you,  dear,  dear 
Mrs.  Carter,  it  shall  not  occur  again  if  I 
can  help  it never  ! 

Carter :  Come  I  let  it  pass  this  time,  my 
dear. 

Mrs.  Carter:  Well,  then,  I  suppose  I 
must  forgive  you  this  time,  Rose.  Here  ! 
take  baby  and 

(Mrs.  Carter  walks  aside  with  Rose,  giv- 
ing instructions  in  an  undertone.  Isabel- 
ita  whispers  to  cousin  Louis  :  "  See  what 
a  perfect  actress  Gloria  is  !  She  under- 
stands small  points.  Her  mantilla  is  put 
on  unbecomingly,  to  show  that  she  has 
been  in  a  temper.") 

Carter  (pokes  Silverspoon  in  the  ribs) : 
Pretty  girl,  eh  ? — You  sly  dog  ! 

Silverspoon  :  No  !  Upon  my  word.  This 
was  not  that  sort  of  thing  at  all ! 


SENORA     VILLENA  IIJ 

Carter  (incredulously) :  Tut,  tut,  man  ! 
Tut,  tut. 

(Rose  goes  out  with  baby.) 

Mrs.  Carter:  I  am  so  lonely  without 
Margery  !     It  is  something  terrible  ! 

Silverspoon :  Terrible  !  I  don't  think  I 
quite  understand  where  she  is  gone. 

Carter :  I  don't  think  /quite  understand 
where  she  is  gone. 

Mrs.  Carter :  Perhaps  not.  She  was  a 
high-spirited  girl ! 

Silverspoon  :  Very  !  Where  did  you  say 
— did  I  understand 

Mrs.  Carter :  She  seemed  the  one  thing 
needed  to  make  our  life  here  perfect  bliss. 

Silverspoon :  She  did  ! 

(Silverspoon  goes  to  the  arbor,  takes 
from  his  pocket  a  large  poster,  folded  ; 
unfolds  this  and  fastens  it  to  the  arbor 
with  a  pen-knife.  On  this  poster  is  a  vig- 
orous sketch  of  Mrs.  Blake  and  printed  in 
large  letters,  the  following  : 

Strageb  0r  Stokn! 

FROM    OUR    MIDST,    A    CHARMING    YOUNG    PERSON. 
FINDER    WILL    BE    LIBERALLY    REWARDED,    AND    NO    QUES- 
TIONS  ASKED. 

8 


tI4  SENORA    VILLENA 

It  was  the  original  poster,  which  Vin- 
cent had  begged  of  Carter  when  the  lat- 
ter had  first  told  him  the  story.) 

Carter:  Come,  my  dear.  Acknowledge 
that  our  life  is  perfect  bliss  without  Mrs. 
Blake. 

Mrs.  Carter:  What  would  you  say  if 
you  should  lose  Karl  ? 

Carter :  Lose  Karl !  What  do  you 
mean  !     Have    you   any    reason   to   think 

Karl !      What   is   this    talk    I    hear  ! 

Are  you  dissatisfied  with  me  ? 

Blake:  No,  sir. 

Carter :  And  you  are  willing  to  stay  ? 

Blake  (with  hesitation)  :  I  shan't  go  be- 
fore you  agree  to  it. 

Carter :  Oh,  well ;  that  is  satisfactory,  I 
am  sure.  (To  Mrs.  Carter.)  My  dear,  in- 
stead of  falling  into  the  melancholy  vein, 
suppose  we  have  a  game  of  tennis.  Oh,  I 
forgot !     There  are  no  balls  ! 

(A  number  of  tennis-balls  thrown  over 
the  wall.  Fredo  roars  and  rolls  over  on 
the  ground  in  his  delight.  The  others 
are  patient.) 

Silver  spoon :  A  miracle  !  Another  won- 
der !  In  America  they  have  snow-storms 
in  mid-summer,  and  each  snow-flake  is  a 
regulation  tennis-ball ! 


SEJVORA    VILLENA  II5 

Carter  :  Many  thanks,  neighbor  ! 

(Carter  goes  to  arbor ;  sees  Silver- 
spoon's  poster  and  beckons   Mrs.  Carter.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  Tear  it  down  !  This  is 
going  altogether  too  far  ! 

Carter :  Ignore  it,  my  dear. 

(Mrs.  Carter  puts  out  her  hand  to  tear 
down  the  poster.     Carter  restrains  her.) 

Carter :  Oh,  no  — ^  please  ! 

Mrs.  Carter  :  There  !  I  know  !  I  have 
always  known  that  I  was  ugly  and  plain 
and  homel}^  and 

(Carter  puts  mirror  before  her  face.) 

Mrs.  Carter :  Not  very  good-looking. 

Carter:  Here  are  the  rackets.  Now, 
my  dear,  you  and  Jack 

Silver  spoon  :  Oh,  I  forgot ! 

Mrs.  Carter:  Don't  tell  me  that  you 
have  an  engagement.  I  won't  consent  to 
give  you  up  also  ! 

Silver  spoon  :  No,  I  forgot  to  tell  you. 

Mrs.  Carter  :  What  ? 

Silverspoon :  There  is  a  stunner  over 
there. 

Carter  :  A  stunner — over  there  ? 

Silverspoon :  A  beauty.  A  lovely  maiden 
who  sits  on  the  wall  and  wants  to  see 
Karl. 

Carter :  What  !     Rose  ? 


Il6  SENORA    VILLENA 

Silverspoon :  No  ;  another.  She  has 
golden  hair  and  the  most  exquisite  nose  ! 
I  started  to  converse  with  her,  but  she 
would  not  have  it  and  sent  me  awa}^ 
There  was  only  one  trouble. 

Carter:  What? 

Silverspoon:  She  was  deaf.  And  one 
other. 

Mrs.  Carter:  What? 

Silverspoon :  She  was  dumb.  Otherwise 
charming-. 

(Mrs.  Blake  comes  in  from  piazza.) 

Silverspoon :  Here  she  is  again !  (Hast- 
ens up  to  her  and  takes  out  sketch-book.) 
1  will  w^rite  it  for  you,  poor  thing. 

Mrs.  Blake:  Poor  thing  yourself,  sir. 
(Drops  a  courtesy.)  Master's  compli- 
ments to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carter,  and  he 
is  coming,  ma'am. 

Silverspoon :  Another  miracle  ! 

Carter:  Wh}^     That  is  Mrs.  Blake,  or 


Silverspoon :  If  it  is  Mrs.  Blake,  I 

Mrs.  Carter :  Who  is  your  master,  my 
good  girl  ? 

Mrs.  Blake :  That  I  don't  know,  ma'am , 
but  here  he  comes  himself,  ma'am. 

(Neighbor  comes  in.  It  is  the  first  time 
that  senora  Villena   has  put    on  her  full 


SENORA    VILLENA  II7 

costume,  for  previously  she  had  shown 
but  her  head  and  shoulders  above  the 
wall.  Now,  she  has  avoided  the  indel- 
icacy of  dressing  "  liker  yentleman  "  in 
all  respects  by  devising  a  rough  coat  with 
skirts  which  reach  to  the  top  of  her  dainty 
French  shoes.  In  her  right  hand,  brilliant 
with  diamond  rings, — all  she  possesses  be- 
ing put  on  for  the  grand  occasion — she 
grasps  a  heavy,  knotted  stick.  In  her  left 
is  a  similar  stick  which  she  uses  as  a 
crutch.) 

Blake  (aside) :  My  father  !  Alas  !  how 
feeble  and  worn  ! 

The  play  could  not  go  on  for  a  time. 
The  senora's  grave  manner  and  ridiculous 
costume;  Medina's  voice  shaken  on  the 
word  "father"  and  breaking  on  "alas" — it 
was  too  much.  Actors  and  audience — 
even  mother  and  mamita — shouted  and 
screamed. 

Neighbor  (to  the  audience) :  Don't  be  so 
fool !  Jour  servant,  madame.  Jour  ser- 
vant, yentlemen. 

Carter:  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  our 
neighbor  finally. 

Mrs.  Carter :  We  are  very  glad,  indeed. 


II 8  SENORA    VILLENA 

Silverspoon :  Indeed. 

Carter:  Welcome  back,  Mrs.  Blake  ! 

Silverspoon :  It  is  Mrs.  Blake  !  If  I  had 
known  that  it  was  you  on  the  wall 

Mrs.  Blake  (imitating  Silverspoon) : 
'  Deuced  good-looking !  .  .  .  .  How  sweet 
of  her  !  ....  Not  for  me?  ....  For 
Karl  ?  ....  It  isn't !' 

(Mrs.  Carter  leads  neighbor  to  seat  in 
arbor.) 

Carter:  Why  did  you  leave  us  so  sud- 
denly ?     We  were  in  despair. 

(Mrs.  Blake  points  to  poster, — ''No 
questions  asked.") 

Neighbor :  Silence,  friends  !  Shut  op, 
bo-ee !  (To  cousin  Louis.)  I  shall  ex- 
explainer  everything  myself.  I  am  man 
of  few  Avords,  but  I  do — I  shall  explainer 
everything. 

(Blake  draws  nearer.  All  very  atten- 
tive.) 

Neighbor:  Thirty -five  year  sago,  I  mar- 
ry a  beautiful  wife.  I  lover  her  !  I  lover 
her !  We  have  wong  chil'.  Wen  this 
chir  wass  less  than  wong  year,  my  wife 
die,      I   can    never   say  so   before.     Even 

now  the  memory  of  that ca  !  it  maker 

me  sad.  From  that  time  I  hate  the  world 
an'    see    nobodie — not    wong   persong  !     I 


SENORA    VI L  LENA  II  g 

maker  the  rebellion  from  my  soul  an'  my 
heart  with  the  good  God  an'  man.  An' 
the  most  estranger  thing  wass  this  :  that  I 
cannot  bear  to  see  that  chil'.  I  hater  him : 
he  reminder  me  too  much  of  the  mother. 
After  a  few  year  1  sender  that  bo-ee  away 
to  a  friend  who  taker  good  care  of  him  an* 
teller  him  I  am  dead,  an'  his  mother  too. 
By-an'-by  he  grow  to  be  a  man,  an'  a  fine 
man — solide.  He  don'  know,  but  all  the 
time  I  watcher  him.  Wen  he  wass  marry, 
I  am  there.  I  don'  say  nothing  :  nobodie 
see  me  in  that  church.  Wen  I  seer  him 
so  happy,  I  wass  crazy  to  embracer  him ! 
All  the  love  I  have  had  for  the  mother,  I 
giver  that  to  him  then.  I  want  to  taker 
him  home  Avith  me  and  keeper  him  always. 
But  I  say.  No  !  Wat  he  would  thinker  of 
me  ?  Wat  he  would  thinker  of  me  who 
leaver  him  so, — who  everyone  hate  ?  I 
cannot  speaker  to  him. 

Blake :  Father  ! 

Carter :  Karl ! 

Silverspoon  :  The  husband  ! 

Neighbor :  Pay  attengtion  !  .  .  .  Wen  he 
iss  in  trouble  I  sender  to  him,  but  he  will 
not  com'. 

Blake :  And  I  was 

Neighbor  (imposing  silence  with  a  ges- 


T20  SENORA     VILLENA 

ture) :  Then  1  have  been  sad  for  long 
time,  till  I  see  this  leetle  girl  (takes  Mrs. 
Blake's  hand) — so  sweet ! — in  her  cap  an' 
her  apron. 

Blake:  And  I  was  only  restrained  by 
the  fear  lest  you  should  think  my  pov- 
erty, and  not  affection 

Neighbor :  Ca,  let  us  finish  this  trouble, 
this  sadness,  an'  all  be  yolly  !  Hurry  op 
an'  haver  good  time  ! 

(Blake  and  Neighbor  embrace.  Neigh- 
bor takes  Mrs.  Blake's  hand  and  gives  her 
to  Blake.) 

Neighbor :  Taker  her  an'  be  good  bo-ee  ! 
Don'  quarrel  no  more.  Leaver  happy. 
(To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carter.)  We  be  good 
friends,  no  ? — an'  to  prover  that 

Mrs.  Carter:  We  will  have  the  wall 
taken  away. 


Senora  Villena's  triumph  was  complete. 
Everyone  praised  her,  and  Vincent  thanked 
her  for  saving  the  day  and  redeeming  the 
play. 

"  Have  I  done  my  part  well  ?"  Teresa 
asked  her  mother  when  they  were  alone 
in  the  latter's  room.  ''  It  was  so  extrava- 
gant !     But  did  you  like  my  acting  ?" 


SENORA     VILLENA  121 

"  That  was  not  acting :  that  was  be- 
havior," said  the  mother,  very  sternly. 

Then  Teresa  was  forced  to  tell  how 
Rodriguez  had  declared  his  passion  in 
Gloria's  presence  but  without  exciting  her 
suspicion.  ''And  I  am  sure,"  she  con- 
cluded, "  that  the  burlesque  this  afternoon 
was  a  complete  blind,  just  because  it  was 
so  exaggerated.  Nobody  but  you  under- 
stood me.     He  did  not — I  know  that." 

"  But  what  he  did  in  Gloria's  presence, 
my  child,  was  done  with  grace  and  deli- 
cacy." 

''  Ah,  darling  little  mother  !  You  can- 
not expect  me  to  equal  him  !" 


SOIREE  AT  SE VILLA 

HE  invitations  which  Medina 
had  addressed  were  for  the  day 
following  that  on  which  the 
play  was  finished.  You  may 
know  from  this  that  Gloria  was  full  of 
fears.  What  if  it  should  prove  an  anti- 
climax ? 

At  half-past  eight  in  the  evening  Vin- 
cent, his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back, 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  brilliantly- 
lighted,  empty  but  expectant  rooms  of 
the  ground  floor.  Presently  cousin  Louis 
came  down  stairs  and  joined  him. 

''  Well,  our  good  host,"  said  the  latter, 

*'  I    suppose   they  will   be    here Why  ! 

How  is  this  ?"  he  asked,  noticing  that  Vin- 
cent was  not  in  full  dress.  "You  have 
put  on  a  morning  coat  since  dinner?" 

''  There  will  be  one  or  two  guests  to 
keep  me  company  in  this  bad  form,  as  you 
will  see,"  said  Vincent.  "  Fm  sorry;  for 
the  rooms  will  be  warm  and  this  coat  is 
heavy.  What  do  you  think  of  those  flow- 
ers in  the  corner?     Aren't  they  too  close 


SEIZOR  A    VILLENA  12  J 

together?     I  think  I'll  call  the  gardener" 


Louis  Diaz  laughed.  ''  You  remind  me 
of  Carter,"  he  said.  "And,  by  the  way, 
did  you  not  put  a  good  deal  of  yourself 
and  your  own  traits  into  that  character  of 
Paul  Carter?" 

''But  I  know  Carter,"  said  Vincent, 
''  and  I  set  down  what  I  knew.  However, 
on  second  thought,  you  are  right,"  he  cor- 
rected himself ;  "  for  I  had  to  add  some 
points  where  my  information  was  defec- 
tive. I  thought  I  reasoned  out  what  was 
probable  for  him  and  in  him — the  unknown 
from  the  known ;  but  very  likely,  as  3^ou 
say,  I  was  only  studying  myself  then. 
His  way  of  living  is  so  like  my  own." 

"■  Is  his  wife  economical,  as  you  repre- 
sent her?  I  only  know  them  socially — 
not  intimately." 

''  There  I  confess  I  took  a  suggestion 
from  Gloria.  Gloria  is  not  exactly  eco- 
nomical, but — well,  I  will  tell  you  what 
she  said  to  me  the  other  day.  We  were 
out  shopping  together  and  I  offered  to 
give  her  a  piece  of  jewelry  which  she 
admired. 

"  'Oh,  I  have  that,'  she  said. 

"  '  You  have  it !'  I  said.     '  Then  what  is 


124  SEJ^ORA    VILLENA 

it  doing  here  in  the  shop  ?     Oh  !  you  have 

ordered  it  and  Mr. has  neglected  to 

send  it.     Let  me  speak  to  him.' 

"  '  No,  no,'  she  said,  '  I  would  rather 
have  Mr. keep  it  for  me.' 

"  'And  why  ?' 

'' '  Well,  I  saw  it  a  good  while  ago  and 
asked  the  price.  Then  I  saved  up  my 
pocket-money  until  I  had  enough  to  buy 
it.  Then  of  course  it  belonged  to  me  if  I 
wanted  to  go  and  get  it ;  but  by  that  time 

I  thought  I'd  let  Mr. keep  it  for  me. 

And  I  think  so  still.'  " 

"  Hm  !"  said  cousin  Louis,  critically. 

"  I  am  interested  to  know  what  will 
become  of  that  money  she  has  saved  up," 
continued  Vincent ;  "  and  1  have  put  more 
than  usual  into  her  purse  this  week  just  to 
see  if  she  will  let  Mr. keep  that  brace- 
let (it  was  a  bracelet)  when  she  has  enough 
and  to  spare." 

The  fair  subject  of  their  conversation 
entered  the  parlors  a  moment  later,  and 
soon  the  entire  family  were  met.  Then 
the  ladies  put  their  hands  upon  each  other 
to  adjust  things,  while  the  gentlemen,  be- 
ing unable  to  imagine  the  slightest  change 
for  the  better  in  such  toilettes,  applauded 
uncritically. 


SEI^ORA    VILLENA  125 

Such  a  time  is  favorable  for  heariiipf 
terms  of  endearment :  and  what  a  range  is 
given  to  expression  by  adding  a  few  let- 
ters at  the  end  of  a  Spanish  word  !  If  you 
would  tell  how  close  is  the  union  in  a  fam- 
ily, what  more  can  you  say  than  this :  A 
Spanish  father  has  been  known  to  call  his 
baby  "  papa",  while  the  baby  was  calling 
its  grandmother  ''  mamita"  (little  mother). 
Both  extremes  of  age  are  flattered  and- 
drawn  as  near  together  as  possible.  And 
have  you  noticed  that  Isabelita,  being  the 
oldest  sister  and  unmarried — too  old  to  be 
unmarried,  others  beside  herself  have  said, 
— is  always  called  little  Isabel,  Avhile  the 
youngest,  Teresa,  is  named  without  dimin- 
utive ?  I  do  not  mean  that  this  is  an  in- 
flexible rule.  It  is  largely  a  question  of 
taste.  Sefiora  Villena's  way,  when  not  in 
one  of  the  rare  fits  of  melancholy,  was  to 
fancy  that  she  herself  and  all  her  especial 
friends  had  not  outgrown  the  taste  for 
dolls. 

''  An'  that  bebe,"  she  was  saying  to 
Gloria,  "  that  bebe  he  is  asleep  so  con- 
ning." Suddenly  her  face  expressed  mor- 
tal terror.  "  Bebe  !"  she  cried,  "  there 
are  a  mice  in  the  wall  !" 

Gloria's  ear  had  caught  the  same  sound 


126  SEJ^ORA     VILLENA 

but  interpreted  it  differently.  '*  Someone 
is  coming  up  the  gravel  walk.  That  is 
what  you  hear,"  she  said. 

The  first  guests  were  arriving. 

These  proved  to  be  monsieur  and  mad- 
ame  Dindome,  who  taught  music,  one 
singing,  the  other  the  piano.  They 
brought  with  them  their  daughter  Marie, 
an  exceedingly  pretty  girl  with  a  fine 
•voice,  who  kissed  the  hostess  at  least  six 
times,  laughing  continually  at  nothing, 
speaking  half  English,  half  French,  with 
many  antics  which  may  have  been  natural 
or  may  have  been  for  the  benefit  of  the 
strange  gentlemen  present.  Monsieur 
Dindome  wore  a  full-dress  suit,  with  the 
exception  of  a  large  flat  shield-cravat 
which  hung  down  half-way  to  meet  the 
low-cut  waistcoat,  leaving  a  wide  margin 
of  shirt-front.  Upon  his  feet  were  cloth 
gaiters. 

When  cousin  Louis  saw  that  cravat  he 
commended  Vincent  for  putting  on  a 
morning  coat. 

The  next  arrivals  were  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Horace  Penman,  and  with  them  Miss 
Slyme.  They  deserve  more  than  a  word 
in  passing,  for  Mr.  Penman  has  often  been 


SENORA    VILLENA  12^ 

pointed  out  to  strangers  as  a  typical  Old- 
havener.  He  was  a  tall,  thin  man  of  very 
erect  figure  and  grave  countenance.  He 
had  lived  temperately  and  worked  delib- 
erately ;  so  that  now,  at  sixty  or  sixty-five, 
he  was  active  and  would  cure  a  head- 
ache by  exercise  rather  than  take  medi- 
cine. But  he  would  tell  you  that  he  was 
an  old  man.  He  was  a  lawyer  with  a 
good  practice — enough,  at  least,  to  keep 
him  from  the  bench.  He  was  intensely 
respectable.  To  those  whom  he  had  often 
met  and  whose  family  history  he  knew,  he 
showed  himself  friendly  or  even  cordial ; 
but  with  recent  or  slight  acquaintances 
his  manner  was  coldly  indifferent.  We 
may  take  ourselves  out  of  the  class  of 
slight  acquaintances  and  know  the  man's 
real  nature  by  dwelling  for  a  moment 
upon  what  he  said  to  John  Eaton,  about 
twenty  years  ago. 

John  Eaton,  as  Mr.  Penman's  most  inti- 
mate friend,  had  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
marry  one  of  the  Misses  Slyme.  Every- 
body knew,  he  had  said,  that  he  had  been 
engaged  to  them,  or  one  of  them,  for  years. 

''  That  is  it,"  Mr.  Penman  replied. 
"  Engaged  to  both  of  them  !  1  can't  make 
up  my  mind  to  prefer  one  to  the  other. 


128  SEI^ORA    VILLENA 

They  are  precisely  alike  and  they  are  in- 
separable. And  certainly  I  cannot  ask 
them  to  settle  it  between  themselves. 
Each  would  draw  back  and  say :  '  After 
you,  dear  sister.' ! 

''  But  even  if  that  difficulty  were  re- 
moved, I  should  hesitate  to  take  this  im- 
portant step  through  fear  of  the  disease." 

"  Disease  !"  echoed  John  Eaton. 

"  Yes,  a  disease  which  counts  its  victims 
by  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands. 
Guess  what  it  is  from  this  description  of  its 
symptoms  :  An  active  and  public-spirited 
young  man  becomes  suddenly  recluse  in 
his  habits.  From  being  an  ornament  to 
society  he  becomes  indifferent  to  the 
charms  of  ladies  and  shuns  parties  of  his 
male  friends.  He  is  no  longer  elegant  in 
dress  ;  he  is  no  longer  a  good  fellow.  His 
enthusiasms  and  his  idealism  are  gradu- 
ally and  surely  converted  into  a  hum- 
drum anxiety  for  steady  advancement  and 
safe  investments.  He  keeps  accounts  at 
home  and  allows  himself  just  enough 
pleasure  and  recreation  to  keep  his  health 
good,  he  says. 

''  Such  are  the  first  symptoms  of  this 
disease.  You  smile  and  think  these  slight 
matters ;  but  mark  the  awful  intensity  of 


SEJ^GRA    VILLENA  I2g 

that  which  follows.  In  one  short  year 
this  young  man  disappears  from  view, — 
at  least  he  is  never  seen  except  when  hur- 
rying- between  his  home  and  his  place  of 
business,  his  doctor's  or  his  apothecary's. 
He  might  almost  as  well  be  dead.  His 
face  is  haggard  and  unshaven  ;  his  eyes  are 
heavy  and  seem  unused  to  more  light  than 
is  admitted  into  the  sick-room ;  if  one  suc- 
ceeds in  stopping  him  on  the  street  as  he 
flies  along,  he  looks  self-conscious,  bashful, 
timid,  and  quickly  excuses  himself  on  the 
plea  of  engagement. 

"  His  case  would  seem  to  be  desperate. 
But  no  :  he  recovers  after  a  month  some 
of  his  old  genial  ways  and  happy  looks. 
His  friends  take  courage,  and  hope  all 
may  yet  be  well, — when,  lo !  the  same 
symptoms  reappear  in  the  same  order,  the 
crisis  must  again  be  passed, — and  so  on, 
and  so  on,  again  and  again  perhaps." 

"  I  can  guess  !"  cried  Eaton.  ''  It  is  the 
devoted-husband  disease." 

''  Guessed,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Pen- 
man ;  ''  and  now  you  know  all  the  reasons 
why  I  postpone  marriage." 

He  married  Miss  Gertrude  Slyme  two 
years  ago,  but  the  sisters  are  still  insepa- 
rable and  both  happy  in  a  quiet  way. 


I30     .  SEI^ORA    VILLENA 

Now  we  know  more  about  Mr.  Penman 
than  anyone  else  does,  excepting  his  inti- 
mates. 

Again  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Green  entered.  Mr.  Green  came  in 
limping,  and  when  asked  the  cause  gave 
the  following  explanation  : 

'*  Nothing  but  a  slight  piece  of  careless- 
ness on  the  part  of  one  of  my  servants,  in 
leaving  a  dust-brush  on  the  stairs.  Mrs. 
Green  had  gone  down  just  before  me,  but 
of  course  did  not  pick  it  up,  as  she  could 
not  soil  her  hands  with  a  household  arti- 
cle. Never  mind  :  the  bruise  is  slight. 
Well,  madam,"  he  continued,  addressing 
his  wife,  "  have  you  made  up  your  mind 
as  yet  ?" 

'"  About  what,  Mr.  Green  ?" 

"  As  to  whether  you  will  go  to  England 
with  me  next  week." 

"-  Really  I  have  not  decided  ;  and  I 
think  it  improper  to  discuss  family  mat- 
ters in  public." 

"  M}^  dear  Mrs.  Green,  you  know  my 
principle.  I  will  not  quarrel  at  home. 
Home  is  the  place  to  be  at  peace.  What 
I  say,  when  we  disagree,  I  want  every- 
body to  hear.     Did  I  not  inform  you  yes- 


SENORA    VILLENA  IJI 

terday  afternoon  that  you  were  to  give 
me  your  answer  here  at  Mrs.  Vincent's  ? 
If  you  do  not  decide  by  the  time  you  have 
finished  drinking-  that  glass  of  lemonade 
or  punch,  whichever  it  may  be,  I  decide 
for  you." 

While  this  dialogue  was  proceeding, 
the  assembled  guests  were  silent,  not 
knowing  whether  it  was  jest  or  earnest. 
Mr.  Green  walked  away  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room.  After  everybody  had  begun 
to  speak  again  he  returned  and,  standing 
at  a  short  distance  from  Mrs.  Green,  said, 
in  a  voice  so  loud  as  to  call  the  general 
attention  : 

'*  Well,  madam,  have  you  made  up  your 
mind?" 

"  Yes.     I  will  go." 

''  We  sail  on  Wednesday,"  he  said,  and 
then  devoted  himself  to  the  rest  of  the 
company. 

Inasmuch  as  this  episode  has  lifted  the 
domestic  curtain,  we  may  as  well  under- 
stand the  situation. 

Mrs.  Green,  when  still  Miss  Chester, 
after  being  engaged  several  times  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  life  was  sad  and  that 
she  might  never  change  her  name.  She 
was  of  a  frivolous  disposition,  inclined  to 


132  SE^ORA    V ILL  EN  A 

be  gay  and  passionately  fond  of  society,  in 
which  she  had  moved  among  the  best 
people.  She  was  not  pretty,  but  very 
aristocratic  in  appearance. 

Mr.  Green  had  opened  a  successful 
school  for  boys  in  Oldhaven.  He  was  a 
very  religious  and  fairly  learned  man,  un- 
pretentious, and  of  a  happ}',  contented 
nature,  thinking  little  of  the  world  outside 
his  own  library.  He  was  a  just  man,  but 
not  stern. 

Now,  the  back  windows  of  his  house 
looked  out  upon  the  grounds  of  Miss 
Chester's  father.  From  the  garden  Miss 
Chester  heard  him  calling  to  the  maid  : 
"  Mary,  be  good  enough  to  ask  the  cook 
what  vegetables  she  has  for  Professor 
Green's  dinner." 

"  How  polite  he  is  to  his  servants !" 
Miss  Chester  said  to  herself ;  and  her 
second  thought  was  :  ''Is  he  good-look- 
ing?" 

Soon  afterwards  she  saw  him  at  the 
window.     He  Avas  quite  good-looking. 

Once  she  saw  him  with  a  small  basket 
on  his  arm  enter  a  hovel  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  town.  "  He  is  of  a  religious,  chari- 
table disposition,"  she  said. 

From   that   day    Miss    Chester   arrayed 


SEiWRA   villena  133 

herself  in  a  plain  black,  but  becoming, 
gown.  She  allowed  herself  but  one  orna- 
ment :  a  huge  black  cross,  hung  by  a  silk 
ribbon  about  her  neck.  She  sang  hymns 
with  the  windows  wide  open  and  attended 
church  twice  on  Sunda3^s.  She  even  did 
the  marketing  for  the  household,  and 
each  da}^  chanced  to  be  at  the  market 
when  Mr.  Green  was  making  his  pur- 
chases. After  discovering  that  he  taught 
in  the  Sunday  school  she  also  took  a  class. 
At  a  teachers'  meeting  they  became  ac- 
quainted. 

"  One  so  simple,  domestic  and  relig- 
ious," thought  Mr.  Green,  "  would  make 
a  true  helpmate."  In  an  hour  of  blind- 
ness he  asked,  and  was  given — he  little 
knew  what. 

Three  weeks  after  their  marriage  Mrs. 
Green  laid  aside  the  simple  black  gown 
and  the  goodness.  Once  more  she  was  a 
gay  society  woman.  Green  was  forced  to 
care  for  the  house  and  lead  as  lonely  a 
life  as  before.  As  years  went  by  he  found 
himself  more  and  more  successful,  more 
and  more  lonely  :  for  the  children  of  this 
marriage  were  like  the  mother.  In  a  word, 
the  just  man  became  stern. 

One  day  Mrs.  Vincent,  when  calling  on 


134  SEiVORA    VILLENA 

Mrs.  Green,  happened  to  meet  Mr.  Green 
at  the  door. 

"  Is  your  wife  at  home,  professor?" 

After  lifting  his  hat  and  ringing  the 
bell  he  answered  :  ''  I  really  do  not  know, 
madam,  but  will  inquire." 

When  the  servant  appeared,  "  John," 
he  said,  "is  Mrs.  Green  at  home?" 

'*  No,  sir ;  she  has  been  in  Saratoga  for 
a  week." 

Without  evincing  any  surprise,  Mr. 
Green  asked  :  *'  Do  you  know  when  she 
returns  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  this  evening." 

An  ingenious  method,  this  of  Mr. 
Green.  He  maintained  peace  at  home  by 
adjusting  all  differences  with  his  wife  in 
public. 

But  we  must  hasten  to  note  other 
guests,  who  now  arrive  so  thick  and  fast* 
that  only  a  word  can  be  given  to  each. 

Miss  Brown,  who  wore  smoked  glasses 
and  wrote  for  children's  papers,  came  in 
alone.  Miss  Reba  Thomas,  who  read 
humorous  poems  with  a  decided  lisp, 
came  in  with  Miss  Knox,  who  had  a  talent 
for  laughing.  Mr.  Donald  Livingstone — 
the   elegant,    the    handsome,  the   wealthy 


SE^ORA    VILLENA  IJS 

Mr.  Livingstone,  respected  by  everybody 
present  except  Mr.  Penman,  who  had  his 
suspicions — entered  with  dignity.  I  do 
not  remember  who  came  for  a  time  after 
that :  youngish  men  whom  one  distin- 
guishes as  good  dancers  or  indifferent 
dancers,  and  young  ladies  only  remem- 
bered as  the  young  lady  in  pink,  or  the 
young  lady  in  white  with  pink.  But  what 
would  a  party  be  without  them  ? 

Last  of  all  came,  in  response  to  the 
three  invitations  which  Gloria  had  secret- 
ly sent  out  of  town,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blake, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carter  and  Mr.  Silverspoon. 
Silverspoon  had  made  the  trip  from  New- 
York  in  company  with  the  Blakes,  and 
they  had  found  the  Carters  at  the  Elm 
House  when  they  reached  Oldhaven. 

Gloria  and  Medina,  who  alone  had  ex- 
pected them,  drew  together  and  watched 
the  effect  of  the  surprise  upon  the  others. 

"  Look  at  your  husband  !"  said  Medina. 
"  An  author  confronted  by  the  creatures 
of  his  imagination,  who  demand  to 
know  what  right  he  had  to  make  one  good 
and  another  evil — or,  what  is  a  great 
deal  worse,  one  interesting  and  the  other 
insipid." 

"  Look  at  senor  Rodriguez  !"  said  Glo- 


13^  SENORA    villena 

ria.  "  He  thinks  Mr.  Silverspoon  is  his 
own  reflection  walking  out  of  a  mirror. 
And  see  !  Coralie  has  put  out  her  hands 
to  ward  him  off,  as  though  he  were  a 
piece  of  furniture  about  to  fall  on  her. 
Mrs.  Carter  does  not  wear  her  hair  so 
high  as  I  thought." 

Medina  laughed.  "  And  I  have  no 
doubt,"  he  said,  ''  that  Concha  is  compar- 
ing the  real  Madame  Margery  with  her 
counterfeit  of  yesterday,  and  that  Louis 
Diaz  is  revising  his  judgment." 

Not  long  afterward  Teresa  was  saying 
to  her  mother  :  ''  How  much  sefior  Rod- 
riguez flattered  Mr.  Silverspoon  !" 

The  mamita,  who  was  seated  behind 
them  in  a  great  arm-chair,  leaned  forward 
and  said  :  '*  That  the  Silverspoon  ?  Ah  ! 
His  face  very  cross  ;  but  his  hands  and 
feet  aristocratic — and  his  voice,  also.  Oh, 
yes,  he  may  be  a  gentleman."  The  mamita 
prided  herself  upon  knowing  only  Spanish 
people. 

Silverspoon  became  conscious  that  three 
generations  were  looking  at  him  with  in- 
terest, and  came  forward  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  them.  The  mother  and  Teresa 
greeted  him  cordially  and  gave  him  per- 


SEJ^ORA    VILLENA  I37 

mission  to  sit  with  them  ;  but  the  mamita, 
after  acknowledging  his  bow  politely 
enough,  secluded  herself  in  her  memories 
and  leaned  farther  back  in  her  arm-chair. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  same  room 
Rodriguez  was  standing  by   Mrs.   Green. 

"  Who  is  that  beautiful  girl  with  the 
dark  eyes  over  there, — the  one  sitting 
with  two  stout  ladies  ?"  she  asked  him. 
'*  I  have  caught  you  looking  in  her  direc- 
tion once  or  twice,  and  I  cannot  blame 
you." 

'•That,  Mrs.  Green,  is  the  senorita 
Teresa  Diaz,  of  New- York." 

"  You  speak  as  though  you  knew  her : 
perhaps  you  can  tell  me  about  the  thin 
young  man  who  is  with  them.  I  noticed 
that  she  seemed  very  glad  when  he  went 
up  to  them." 

''  Oh,  yes,  madame ;  that  is  one  of  my 
friends.     He  is  a  very  successful  artist." 

"  Is  he  engaged  to  the  young  lady  ?" 

Rodriguez  looked  for  a  moment  at  the 
unconscious  subjects  of  this  dialogue  be- 
fore replying :  ''  I  cannot  tell  you  that, 
madame." 

Cousin   Louis  liked    to    corner   men    at 


I3S  SENORA    VILLENA 

parties  and  converse  with  them.  *'  I  pre- 
fer to  get  the  good  of  these  affairs,"  he 
would  say,  "  by  taking  people  at  their 
best.  I  talk  with  the  men  and  I  look  at 
the  women."  The  truth  was,  he  liked  to 
lead  in  conversation. 

He  and  Mr.  Penman  were  standing  to- 
gether. 

"  I  think,  sir,  that  I  once  heard  you  play 
the  piano  in  Boston,"  Mr.  Penman  was 
saying.  "  The  concert  to  which  I  refer 
was  excellent  in  its  way,  and  especially 
the  soloist  seemed  to  me  to  show  much 
skill.  You  must  pardon  me,  as  I  am  near- 
sighted  and   I   have  a  poor  memory  for 

names,  but  I  think let  me  see,  it  was 

in  December,  five  years  ago." 

''  I  did  play  several  times  in  Boston  that 
winter,"  said  cousin  Louis ;  "  and  I  should 
be  very  happy  to  think  that  I  gained  your 
approval.  Ah  !  perhaps  we  can  fix  the 
occasion.  What  selections  did  I — or  the 
soloist,  whoever  he  was — play  that  even- 
ing?" 

*'  Hum,"  said  Mr.  Penman,  taking  off  his 
glasses  and  appearing  to  reflect.  He 
was  a  learned  man,  and  accustomed  to 
being  consulted  as  authority  in  the  law 
and  general  literature.     I  think,  therefore. 


SENORA    VILLENA  IJp 

that  he  hesitated  to  say  "  I  don't  know 
music,"  not  through  affectation  but 
through  force  of  habit.  It  took  half  a 
minute  to  remember  that  he  did  not 
know. 

In  less  than  half  a  minute  cousin  Louis 
saw  the  point  and  changed  the  subject. 
"  Speaking  of  art  matters,"  he  said,  ''  re- 
minds me  of  that  English  artist  who  came 
in  just  now.  Probably  you  have  not  met 
him.  No,  not  that  gentleman  :  that  is  Mr. 
Rodriguez.  On  the  other  side — there, 
talking  to  Miss  Diaz." 

Mr.  Penman  put  up  his  glasses  and 
looked  steadily  at  Silverspoon.  ''No,  I 
don't  know  him,"  he  said. 

It  seemed  to  cousin  Louis  that  the  tone 
in  which  this  was  said  implied  an  addi- 
tional, ''  Don't  care  to  ;"  and  he  felt  him- 
self challenged  to  interest  Mr.  Penman. 

''Well,"  he  continued,  "there  is  a  man 
who  is  at  the  same  time  rude  and  very 
refined.  I  say  nothing  of  his  rudeness,  for 
that  is  the  first  thing  to  strike  a  stranger  ; 
but  I  will  give  you  an  instance  of  his 
refined  way  of  putting  things.  When  he 
first  came  to  New-York  his  taste  was 
offended  by  the  generally  filthy  state  of 
the  streets,  and  especially  by  the  custom 


I40  SENORA    VILLENA 

of  leaving  barrels  filled  with  ashes  and  all 
sorts  of  rubbish  on  the  sidewalks.  But  in 
speaking  to  New-Yorkers,  instead  of  open- 
ly criticising,  he  called  attention  to  the 
disgraceful  practice  by  pretending  to  ad- 
mire these  ash-barrels  as  art-objects ;  and 
he  did  this  with  so  much  humor  that  '  Mr. 
Silverspoon's  ash-barrel '  is  become  a  syn- 
onym for  irony.  And,  by  the  way,  this  is 
quite  a  coincidence  !  Another  man  who 
is  much  politer  than  Jack  Silverspoon,  and 
who  avoids  expressing  his  disapproval 
flatly,  is  the  one  you  looked  at  first — there, 
with  some  lady  I  do  not  know." 

"•  Mrs.  Green,"  said  Mr.  Penman. 

''  Now,  he  has  this  system  in  its  perfec- 
tion. You  can  see  at  a  glance  that  he  is  a 
strong-willed  and  hot-tempered  man,  this 
Jose  Rodriguez ;  but  he  never  contra- 
dicts :  he  suggests  his  dissent  in  some 
subtle  way.  If  one  is  clever  enough  to 
see  and  understand  the  suggestion,  then 
that  is  sufficient ;  if  one  is  not  clever 
enough,  what  good  would  contradiction 
do  such  a  person  ?  Rodriguez  and  Sil- 
verspoon are  great  friends,  and  that  may 
explain  their  having  the  same    practice." 

''  Great  friends  ?"  said  Mr.  Penman,  in- 
terrogativel3^     "  They  do  not  look  it." 


SEA'ORA    VILLENA  141 

"  I  thought  I  must  be  mistaken,"  said 
Louis,  "  but  if  you  also  notice  a  peculiar 
expression — perhaps  a  hostile  expression 
— in  Rodriguez's  face,  I  think  I  can  ac- 
count for  it."  At  that  instant  he  saw 
Silverspoon  lean  forward  and  in  an  un- 
dertone say  something  to  Teresa  at  which 
she  blushed  and  smiled,  rewarding  him 
with  a  brilliant  glance  and  a  murmured 
reply. 

"  The  dark  man  looks  decidedly  hostile, 
I  should  say,"  Mr.  Penman  observed. 

With  his  usual  rapidity  of  judgment 
cousin  Louis  drew  his  conclusions  and 
decided  upon  his  own  course  of  action. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hall  was  a  large 
room  which  had  been  set  apart  for  danc- 
ing. Mr.  Carter  was  there,  chatting  with 
Mrs.  Blake  and  passing  comments  upon 
the  dancers. 

"  There's  an  extraordinary  couple  !" 
said  Mrs.  Blake.  "  Concha  Medina  en- 
gaged in  fascinating  an  old  gentleman  in 
cloth  gaiters.  She  takes  the  strangest 
fancies !" 

"  I  have  met  her  partner  before,"  said 
Carter.  "  He  isn't  so  old  as  he  looks,  I 
fancy  ;  and  as  you  see,  he  is  a  good  dancer. 


142  SEJVORA    VILLENA 

He  is  a  Frenchman — Dindon,  Dindome, 
or  something  like  that.  Quite  a  charac- 
ter, they  say." 

"■  Suppose  we  see  for  ourselves.  I  will 
call  Concha,  if  I  can  catch  her  eye,"  said 
Mrs.  Blake ;  and,  presently  succeeding  in 
this  attempt.  Concha  joined  them  and  pre- 
sented Monsieur  Dindome. 

''  You  will  forgive  my  interrupting 
your  dance,  my  dear  Concha,"  said  Mrs. 
Blake,  feeling  that  some  excuse  was  neces- 
sary, ''when  you  hear  what  I  have  to  tell 
you.  You  know  we  have  been  seeing  a 
good  deal  of  Jack  Silverspoon  lately." 

''  Yes,"  said  Concha,  expectantly. 

"  Well,  he  confessed  to  me  that  at  one 
time  he  was  quite  attentive  to  Teresa  Diaz." 

"  One  of  a  thousand !"  said  Concha. 
"  If  you  want  to  surprise  me,  my  dear, 
mention  somebody  who  has  not  been  at- 
tentive to  Teresa." 

"  Monsieur  Dindome,  for  instance." 

"  Pardon  me,  madame,"  said  that  gen- 
tleman. "  I  haf  observed  her  befo  I  haf 
seen  you  " — including  both  the  ladies  in 
an  impressive  flourish  and  bow. 

Passing  cousin  Louis  in  the  hall  soon 
afterward,  Concha  said : 


SENORA   villena  143 

"■  Something  for  a  censor  to  enjoy  !  Mr. 
Silverspoon  has  been  attentive  to  Teresa." 

Cousin  Louis  was  on  his  way  to  seek 
Vincent.  He  found  him  engaged  in  com- 
plimenting madame  Dindome  upon  the 
appearance  of  her  daughter,  Marie,  and 
congratulating  Mrs.  Penman  and  Miss 
Slyme  *  upon  the  rugged  health  which 
their  husband  and  brother-in-law  seemed 
to  enjoy. 

Drawing  him  aside,  he  said  earnestly: 
"  My  dear  friend,  I  have  reason  to  fear 
that  there  is  trouble  ahead." 

"  What  !  Is  the  punch  giving  out  ?  No 
wonder :  such  a  warm  evening.  I  will  go 
and  order  more." 

"  Not  that.  Have  you  noticed  Rodri- 
guez?" 

"  By  Jove  !  Thank  you  for  reminding 
me.  I  have  been  neglecting  him.  *  Where 
is  he  ?  I  shall  introduce  him  to  that  pretty 
little  Marie  Dindome." 

''And  T  go  with  you,"  said  cousin  Louis, 
taking  Vincent's  arm.  "  Slowly,  please. 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you  as  we  go." 

Gloria  had  found  opportunity  for  a  short 
confidential  chat  with  Mrs.  Blake. 


144  SEN'ORA    villena 

"And  Richard  is  so  sensitive  and  so 
proud,  my  dear !"  the  latter  was  saying. 
"  He  positively  refused  to  be  dependent 
upon  his  father ;  and,  what  do  you  think ! 
he  has  begun  to  invent  things — all  sorts  of 
things  for  pulling  up  weeds  without  bend- 
ing over,  and  then  using  them  for  I  forget 
what.  He  has  even  found  a  use  for  me. 
He  says  I  stimulate  him  (sometimes  he 
says  irritate)  to  such  a  degree  that  he 
invents  something  before  he  knows  it. 
He  struck  twelve  the  other  day." 

"Why,  Margery,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  his  way  of  saying  that  he 
has  done  his  best,  like  a  clock.  You  see, 
I  was  in  a  temper,  and  he  invented  some- 
thing which  will  make  us  rich  again.  I 
do  not  exactly  understand  what  it  is ;  but 
Richard  says  everybody  will  want  it." 

"  You  must  be  very  happy." 

"  Happy  !  I  am  growing  stout  at  the 
mere  thought  of  it ;  and  if  this  invention 
succeeds,  I  fear  I  shall  soon  have  an  im- 
pertinent figure." 

Gloria  rose,  saying  :  "  Now  I  must  leave 
you,  Margery  ;  but  promise  me  not  to  stir 
for  two  minutes,  and  I  will  bring  you  a 
charming  gentleman." 

"  Whom  ?" 


SEJ^ORA    VILLENA  14s 

"  Senor  Rodriguez." 

As  they  walked  arm  in  arm  through  the 
rooms,  cousin  Louis  told  Vincent  what  he 
had  seen  and  what  he  thought  about  it. 

"Has  anyone  beside  yourself  noticed 
this?"  Vincent  asked. 

''  Yes,  Concha  Medina." 

''In  that  case,"  said  Vincent,  ''there 
must  be  something  in  it." 

The  object  of  their  search  was  not  in 
the  parlors,  and  they  were  about  to  pass 
into  the  hall  when  Mrs.  Green  stopped 
them. 

"Dr.  Vincent,"  she  said,  "if  you  see 
that  Spanish  gentleman  you  introduced 
to  me  please  tell  him  I  have  something  to 
say  to  him,  and  I  will  be  right  here.  He 
left  me  quite  abruptly  to  speak  to  that 
gentleman  who  is  engaged  to  Miss  Diaz, 
and  then  they  went  out  together." 

Vincent  promised,  and  with  Louis  Diaz 
walked  rapidly  through  the  hall  and  stood 
in  the  doorw^ay. 

Two  men  were  near  them  on  the  piazza, 
and  appeared  to  be  disputing  some  point. 

"  Not  now,"  they  heard  one  of  the  men 

say  in  Silverspoon's  voice  ;  "  we  must  not 

disturb  the   festivities.      After  they   have 
10 


146  SE^ORA     VILLENA 

all  gone  away  we  will  leave  together. 
Alone  ? — or  would  you  prefer " 

They  did  not  hear  the  end  of  the  sen- 
tence ;  for,  with  a  common  impulse,  they 
had  stepped  back  into  the  hall. 

'*  The  sort  of  thing,"  said  Vincent,  ''  that 
they  would  not  like  anybody  to  hear ;  and 
I  am  afraid  it  is  a  thing  shameful  to  hear 
and  shameful  to  speak." 

''  Oh,  no ;  the  duel,  as  between  gentle- 
men, is  not  shameful,"  said  cousin  Louis. 

At  this  moment  Gloria  met  them. 

''  I  have  been  looking  everywhere  for 
senor  Rodriguez,"  she  said.  ''  I  want  to 
take  him  to  Margery." 

"And  I  have  promised  to  take  him  to 
Mrs.  Green,"  said  her  husband.  "  Sup- 
pose we  stand  here :  the  draught  is  pleas- 
ant." 

''  Poor  martyr — in  that  heavy  coat !" 

''Cousin  Gloria,"  said  Louis,  ''if  you 
mean  to  stand  here,  I  insist  -upon  getting 
you  a  wrap." 

"  Mamita  has  one  for  me  :  ask  her,"  said 
Gloria  ;  then,  when  he  was  out  of  hearing : 
"  Carangol,  I  am  trying  to  do  all  I  can  for 
poor  Rodriguez.  Mamma  found  fault 
with  little  Teresa  for  acting  that  absurd 
part  you  made  her  take,  and  she  has  been 


SES'ORA    VILLENA  14'j 

SO  ashamed  that  she  has  not  looked  at  him 
since.  He  does  not  understand — thinks 
she  has  given  him  up — and  feels  dread- 
fully :  I  can  see  it." 

''  Oh  !  oh  !"  said  Vincent.  ''  Another 
cause  of  war." 

Fortunately  he  was  not  called  upon  to 
explain  this  expression,  for  cousin  Louis 
returned  with  a  lace  shawl,  while  from 
the  piazza  came  Rodriguez  and  Silver- 
spoon. 

"  Here  you  are  at  last !"  cried  Gloria. 
**  Why,  you  both  look  as  guilty  as  though 
you  had  stolen  away  to  have  a  cigar !" 
She  claimed  Rodriguez  for  Mrs.  Blake, 
and  took  him  away  with  her. 

As  soon  as  her  back  was  turned,  Vin- 
cent laid  his  hand  on  Silverspoon's  arm, 
saying  very  earnestly :  ''  Don't  do  any- 
thing unworthy  of  you  —  anything  fool- 
ish." 

"And  I  tell  you,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the 
other,  ''that  I  never  felt  more  like  it  in 
my  life." 


THE  SPANISH  SESSION 

En  punto  a  cantar  no  cabe  termino  medio  :  6  buen 
cantar  6  buen  callar,  que  quien  canta  bien,  parece  angel 
que  a  Dios  alaba,  y  quien  canta  mal,  asnico  que  re- 
buzna. —  Trueba. 

T  was  half-past  two  o'clock  when 
the  last  of  the  Oldhaven  guests 
took  their  departure.  From 
the  lateness  of  the  hour  (almost 
unprecedented  in  the  annals  of  conserva- 
tive Oldhaven  society)  I  judge  that  they 
had  enjoyed  themselves.  The  Carters, 
the  Blakes  and  Silverspoon  had  been  pri- 
vately commanded  to  remain. 

"  Because,"  Gloria  had  said  to  one, 
"  because  ! — you  shall  see."  To  another 
she  had  explained :  "  Now  that  the  con- 
versation and  dancing  and  supper  and 
conversation  and  conversation  are  over, 
let  us  have  some  fun." 

''  The  Spanish  session  will  begin,"  Vin- 
cent had  said  with  marked  emphasis  to 
Rodriguez ;  "■  and  you,  senor,  are  at  pres- 
ent a  member  of  my  household — my  fam- 


SEJVORA    VILLENA  149 

ily.  If  you  acknowledge  my  authority 
you  must  stay  with  us." 

*'  But,  as  I  have  assured  you,  sir,  I  have 
made  with  Mr.  Silverspoon  an  engage- 
ment." 

'^  Jack  will  stay  also." 

And  so,  at  three  o'clock,  the  Spanish 
session  began. 

Not  formally  appointed,  but"  born  to 
rule  such  a  company,  sefiora  Villena  led 
on  merriment  to  madness  among  the 
guests.  She  hurried  to  and  fro,  exhort- 
ing and  stimulating  everybody  to  **  doer 
something  liker  carnival." 

It  was  like  a  carnival :  friends  calling 
out  to  one  another  across  the  rooms, 
everybody  talking  at  once,  dancing,  laugh- 
ing, singing,  gesticulating.  The  very 
spirit  of  extravagant  fun  was  there,  as 
master  of  revels,  directing  the  strangest 
things  to  be  done.  Those  estimable  Old- 
haven  people  who  had  gone  could  upon 
occasion  attain  to  cheerfulness  ;  but  tem- 
pers so  tamed  and  disciplined  as  theirs 
could  not  reach  this  pitch  of  harmless 
revelry. 

Tell  you  in  detail  what  was  done  ?  No, 
I  cannot  :  everything  was  done  too  quick- 
ly.    An  instantaneous  photograph  ?    Well, 


ISO  SENORA    VILLENA 

perhaps  if  we  seize  the  quietest  instant 
we  may  get  an  impression. 

Exhausted  by  her  efforts  senora  Villena 
has  thrown  herself  into  a  chair;  but  no, 
not  exhausted,  for  she  is  speaking  with  all 
her  usual  animation  to  Concha,  who  is 
offering  her  a  glass  of  wine. 

"  Bebe,  that  Mr.  Penyentleman  he  is 
magnifique,  superb,  solide !  My  dear,  he 
taker  fancy  to  me  !" 

The  trifle  of  disorder  in  Concha's  cos- 
tume makes  her  enchanting. 

Cousin  Louis  is  at  the  piano,  improvis- 
ing something  like  a  devil's  dance,  but 
glancing  over  his  shoulder  to  make  sure 
that  Rodriguez  and  Silverspoon  have  not 
slipped  out. 

Gloria  has  given  her  hand  to  Rodri- 
guez, and  together  they  are  trying  to  in- 
vent new  dance-steps  to  suit  this  music. 
It  is  impossible,  but  their  failure  is  a 
pretty  thing  to  watch. 

So  Teresa  thinks ;  but  you  could  not 
tell  that  she  is  looking  at  them.  She  ap- 
pears to  be  listening  to  her  mother's  ad- 
vice. 

The  mamita  is  clapping  her  hands  to 
encourage  Gloria.  The  steps  of  that 
dance  are  Spanish. 


i 


SEJ^OJ^A    VILLENA  151 

Vincent  is  between  Silverspoon  and 
Medina.     The  latter  is  saying  : 

**  Like  some  dry  tobacco  in  a  box  on  my 
table.  The  box  says,  '  Always  Moist.'  I 
keep  it  as  a  model  lie." 

At  the  same  instant  Silverspoon  is  say- 
ing in  his  heart :  "  Mrs.  Vincent  has  the 
lost  arms  of  Venus  ;  and  she  moves  like  a 
flame." 

The  other  figures  are  indistinct :  that  is, 
I  cannot  remember.  But  I  do  remember 
that  an  instant  later  senora  Villena  was  on 
her  feet,  and  that  her  aide,  Concha,  was 
throwing  a  handful  of  small  candies  at  Mr. 
Carter  because  he  looked  too  quiet.  Of 
course  no  person  has  more  than  a  general 
idea  of  what  happened  for  a  while  after 
that. 

But  Vincent  had  it  in  mind  to  say  a 
few  significant  words  to  senora  Diaz  and 
Teresa.  He  had  never  before  interfered 
in  a  matter  of  this  kind;  but  here,  he 
reflected,  was  an  obvious  mistake  and  mis- 
understanding drawing  the  most  serious 
consequences  after  it.  There  was  no  time 
to  be  lost.  Moreover  he  was  himself  (as 
having  assigned  the  part  of  Rose  to 
Teresa)  the  author  of  this  misunderstand- 
ing.    With  a  view  to  making  opportunity 


IS2  SENORA    VILLENA 

for  saying  what  was  needful,  he  said  in  an 
undertone  to  Medina :  "  Now  is  the  time 
for  that  story  you  promised,"  and  then 
seated  himself  by  senora  Diaz. 

Medina  stepped  out  into  the  center  of 
the  room  and  cried  aloud,  "  Silence!"  and 
senora  Villena  repeated  ''  Silence  !"  and 
others  caught  up  the  sound,  so  that 
''  Silence  !  Silence  !"  everyone  cried  in 
mockery  of  the  word. 

When  finally  all  Avere  looking  at  him, 
and  only  whispers  and  titters  were  heard, 
Medina  spoke. 

'*  My  good  friends  and  grown-up  chil- 
dren," he  said,  "our  host  has  commanded 
me  to  tell  you  a  story  in  the  Spanish  style. 
Some  of  you  already  know  the  originals 
of  the  characters  I  shall  introduce  ;  but  if 
you  do  not  all  feel,  by  the  time  I  have 
finished,  that  you  know  them,  blame  my 
invention,  and  not  the  Spanish  style.  I 
call  it 

®cl)anba  anb  ^mabor 

I 

"  '  Dona  Carmen  !' 

''  '  What  is  the  matter  Avith  you,  sefior 
Bozmediano  ?  Dios  mio  !  what  has  hap- 
pened ?' 


SEIZOR  A     VILLENA  I  S3 

"  '  Ah,  dear  friend  !  Give  me  some 
claret  with  water,  or  I  shall  die  !' 

'*  '  Instantly,  senor  ....  Here,  drink 
the  wine  quickly  !  Do  not  fear  :  it  is  the 
good  red  Avine  which  you  have  always  at 
my  apartment.  And  now  tell  me,  what  is 
it?' 

"  '  Ah,  dona  Carmen,  qu6  horror  ! — 
That  girl !' 

''  'Ochanda?' 

"■  *  Yes,  senora.  I  have  met  her!  More 
wine  !  If  I  see  her  again,  I  die !  I  am 
coming  up  the  stairs  to  my  apartment 
above ;  as  I  pass  your  door  I  see  her  float- 
ing down  ;  she  looks  at  me — like  this  ! 
Ave-Maria  Purisima  !' 

"  '  But  she  will  not  harm  you — a  great, 
strong  gentleman  such  as  you.' 

"  '  Yes — I  say,  yes  !  With  her  eyes  !  I 
know  there  is  a  devil  in  each  of  them  ! 
They  flash  fire  ;  they  are  two  evil  flames  ! 
I  shall  be  scorched  and  shriveled  and 
burned  to  a  crisp  !  To-day  I  ran  after  a 
humpback  on  Broadway  and  touched  his 
hump  for  good  luck  ;  but  it  has  done  no 
good  !     That  girl  has  looked  at  me  !' 

''  *  Do  you  believe  she  is  crazy  ?' 

*'  '  I  know  it.     She  never  speaks.' 

"  '  That  is  true.     And  she  eats  hardly 


IS4  SENORA    VILLENA 

anything,  although  our  table  is  the  best  in 
New- York — for  a  boarding-house.' 

"  *  Ora  pro  nobis  !' 

"  '  All  this  is  true ;  yet  I  do  not  believe 
she  is  crazy.' 

"  '  A  beautiful  young  girl  who  neither 
speaks  nor  eats,  and  who  paces  the  floor 
of  her  room  the  whole  day  long — for  I 
hear  her  !     Of  course  she  is  mad  !' 

"  '  Listen  !  Three  months  ago  she  comes 
here  with  her  sister  and  brother-in-law, 
the  senor  de  Velasco.  She  has  left  behind 
her  in  Habana  her  lover.' 

''  '  Eh  ?    Ah  !' 

"■  '  She  washes  to  return.  She  is  not 
allowed.  She  says  to  herself,  I  will !  She 
refuses  to  enjoy  ;  to  speak,  to  eat,  to  go  to 
the  theater.  She  thinks  they  will  be  forced 
to  permit  her  to  return  to  her  lover.  Is  it 
true  ?' 

''  '  Your  wisdom,  dona  Carmen,  is  supe- 
rior even  to  your  wine :  to  praise  it  more 
highly  would  be  impossible  ....  But 
where  did  she  learn  the  evil  eye  ?' 

''  '  Caramba !  Nothing  of  the  kind. 
You  have  lived  too  long  in  this  cold  city  : 
you  have  forgotten  how  Spanish  eyes 
look !' 

**  *  Impossible,  senora  ;  for  I  have  been 


SENORA    VILLENA  I55 

your  neighbor.     And  now .     But  let 

me  first  make  sure  that  she  is  not  in  the 
hall.     Adios,  dona  Carmen  !' 

"  *  Vaya  usted  con  Dios,  seiior  Bozmedi- 
ano.' 

II 

'*  '  Senora  de  Velasco.' 

*' '  Oh,  senor  don  Amador  !' 

*'  '  I  come,  senora,  with  the  greatest  re- 
spect to  request  your  permission  to  pay 
my  addresses  to  the  senorita  Ochanda, 
your  sister/ 

''  '  Hum  !' 

''  '  I  have  already,  as  you  are  doubtless 
aware,  been  so  fortunate  as  to  secure  the 
consent  of  your  husband.' 

<'  '  Very  true.     He  has  told  me.'. 

*'  *  To  you,  senora,  I  present  an  especial 
petition.  I  beg,  not  only  for  your  con- 
sent, but  also  for  your  assistance.' 

''  '  I  fear  your  attempt  is  a  hopeless 
one.  But  you  *are  the  friend  of  my  hus- 
band, senor  :  tell  me  in  what  way  I  can 
aid  you.' 

"  '  A  thousand  thanks,  senora  !  Now 
that  I  may  count  upon  your  good  will,  I 
am  confident  of  success  ! 

"  '  Oh,  as  to   my  good-will,  you  might 


1^6  SENORA     VILLENA 

have  anticipated  that.  To  say  nothing  of 
our  friendship  for  you,  the  attentions  of 
that  military  gentleman  who  takes  his 
meals  here  have  become  annoying.  We 
know  nothing  about  him,  except  that  he 
is  an  officer,  a  captain.  What  is  his 
name  ?' 

'*  '  Brady.  But  he  is  not  a  real  officer — 
not  a  soldier.  He  is  captain  of  a  profes- 
sional base-ball  nine,  and  has  taken  board 
here  in  order  to  learn  the  Spanish  lan- 
guage, his  nine  having  an  engagement  to 
play  in  Habana  next  year.  I  trust,  senora, 
that  he  has  not  made  himself  offensive  in 
any  way  !' 

"  '  Oh,  no  !  Pray  do  not  look  so  fierce. 
You  alarm  me  !  What  I  said  was  merely 
to  intimate  that  we  feel  genuine  anxiety 
for  our  sister  and  would  welcome  the  pro- 
tecting friendship  of  someone  in  whom  Ave 
repose  entire  confidence.  But  have  you 
considered  the  difficulties  ?' 

''  '  Yes,  seiiora.' 

"  '  That,  in  the  first  place,  we  took  her 
awa}^  from  home  in  order  to  break  off  an 
unfortunate  attachment  ?' 

"  *  I  am  aware  of  that,  senora.' 

"  '  That  she  resents  our  wise  interfer- 
ence and  pines  for  the  worthless  fellow  ?' 


SEi^ORA     VILLENA  IS? 

"  '  Yes,  senora.' 

''  'That  she  attempts  to  force  our  com- 
pliance with  her  childish  whim  by  steadily 
refusing  to  speak  or  eat  or  take  part  in 
any  entertainment  ?  She  shocks  even  the 
widow  doiia  Carmen,  and  frightens  the  fat 
senor  Bozmediano  almost  to  death.' 

''  '  1  have  been  a  sorrowful  witness  of  all 
that,  senora  ;  still  I  am  not  without  hope. 
Pardon  me  if  what  I  say  is  too  direct  and 
blunt ;  but  since  you  have  graciously 
promised  to  assist  me,  it  is  but  right  that 
I  should  plainly  speak  my  mind.  She 
does  not  love  the  gentleman  in  Habana.' 

"  '  What  makes  you  think  so  ?' 

"  '  When  she  has  refused  something 
especially  nice  at  table,  1  have  read  in  her 
expression  the  desire  to  eat  it.  When  we 
have  been  speaking  together  about  some 
fine  bit  of  acting  at  the  theater,  I  have 
seen  an  eager  look  come  into  her  face  for 
an  instant.' 

"  '  She  is  shamming,  you  think  ?' 

"  *  I  should  prefer  to  have  you  tell  me, 
after  I  have  added  one  other  point.  Gen- 
uine love  softens  the  disposition  :  now, 
have  you  noticed  more  tenderness  in  her 
manner  since  she  formed  this  attachment, 
or   less   than    ever   before  ?  —  I    mean    of 


I5S  SENORA    VILLENA 

course  toward  those  who  had  not  been  in- 
strumental in  thwarting  her.' 

"  '  Very  much  less.' 

''  *  Well,  then  .     But  I  mast  again 

beg  you  to  forgive  my  bluntness.  Do 
you  not  see  that  she  makes  a  display  of 
her  grief  ?  These  are  not  the  effects  of 
genuine  love.  What  name  would  you 
yourself  give  to  it  ?' 

"  '  Obstinacy.' 

''  '  A  word  which  I  should  not  dare  to 
use  in  speaking  of  your  sister,  seiiora. 
Now  allow  me  to  tell  you  my  plan.  It  is 
of  course  absolutely  necessary  that  she 
should  let  me  speak  to  her  and  pay  her 
those  little  attentions  which  —  without 
which  a  woman's  natural  defenses  protect 
her  heart  completel}^' 

"  '  What  can  you  do !  We  have  tried 
everything — threats,  surprises,  her  favor- 
ite amusements.  Nothing  will  move  her 
to  speak.' 

"  '  Well,  the  passion  to  which  you  have 
given  a  name  is  strong ;  but  the  passion  of 
curiosity  is  still  stronger.  See,  senora, 
these  envelopes ' 


"  '  What  a  large  one  !' 


"  '  That  is  the  outside  one.     Within  that 
is  one  somewhat  smaller,  and  then  another 


SEJ^ORA    VILLENA  1S9 

still  smaller,  and  so  on.  In  all,  there  are 
ten  envelopes,  one  enclosed  within  another. 
The  last  is  quite  small,  as  you  may  imagine. 
Now  the  outside  envelope  is,  as  you  see, 
addressed  to  a  friend  of  mine  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. When  he  opens  it  he  will  find 
another,  sealed,  stamped,  marked  *  confi- 
dential '  and  addressed  to  your  sister  in 
your  care.  She  opens  this,  only  to  find 
enclosed  a  smaller  envelope,  sealed, 
stamped,  marked  '  confidential '  and  ad- 
dressed to  a  friend  of  mine  in  Liverpool. 
So,  in  course  of  time,  she  receives  a  letter 
from  Liverpool,  in  all  respects  similar  to 
that  which  had  come  from  San  Francisco, 
except  that  the  envelope  is  smaller,  the 
stamp  and  postmark  foreign,  and  the- en- 
closure another  envelope  addressed  to  a 
friend  of  mine  in  Paris.  And  so  on  to  the 
last  and  innermost  envelope,  which,  when 
it  finally  is  returned  to  her,  after  zig-zag- 
ging  across  the  water  and  the  continent, 
will  be  found  to  contain ' 

''  '  What  ?' 

''  '  The  envelopes  are  all  sealed  at  pres- 
ent, senora ;  but  when  the  time  comes  you 
shall  see.' 

"  *  Oh,  please  tell  me  now  !' 

"  *  It  is  something  which  I  cannot  well 


l6o  SEJ^ORA    VILLENA 

describe But  I  should  have  ex- 
plained that  I  have  five  sets  of  envelopes 
like  this  ;  so  arranged,  however,  that  each 
set  follows  a  different  and  separate  course. 
Thus,  one  set  begins,  as  I  have  told  you, 
at  San  Francisco,  another  at  Dublin,  and 
so  on  ;  while  the  innermost  envelope  of 
one  set  will  be  forwarded  from  Sevilla,  of 
another,  from  Habana,  and  so  on.  She 
will,  therefore,  receive  one  of  these  mys- 
terious letters  every  day  or  two.' 

''  'And  my  part !     What  am  I  to  do?' 
'' '  If  you  will  be  so  kind,  senora,  see  that 
they    are  handed  to  her  while  we  sit  at 
table.'  " 

III 

"  First  Letter. 

"  Ochanda  found  it  placed  on  the  table 
beside  her  napkin,  glanced  at  the  post- 
mark '  New  Orleans '  and  at  the  unfamil- 
iar handwriting,  but  did  not  open  it. 

''  Secoiid  Letter. 

''  When  Ochanda  took  her  place  at  table 
on  the  following  day,  she  found,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  first  letter  which  she  had  dis- 
regarded, a  second.  She  noticed  that  the 
handwriting  was  the  same,  while  the  sec- 


SE^RA    VILLENA  l6l 

ond  bore  the  postmark  '  London.'  She 
opened  both  of  them.  The  first  contained 
an  envelope,  sealed,  stamped,  marked 
'  confidential '  and  addressed  to  M.  Lafitte, 
&c.,  Paris  ;  the  enclosure  of  the  second 
was  similar  in  all  respects,  save  in  its 
being,  addressed  to  Samuel  Barnes,  Esq., 
San  Francisco.  She  left  them  on  the  table 
when  she  arose,  after  taking  a  few  spoon- 
fuls of  soup.  Her  brother-in-law  mailed 
them. 

'*  The  fat  senor  Bozmediano  noticed  that 
don  Amador  had  been  gazing  earnestly  at 
Ochanda,  so  when  she  had  left  the  room 
he  said  to  him  in  a  whisper :  '  You  also 
fear  that  girl ;  but  never  mind,  she  is  gone 
now,  and  we  may  enjoy  our  dinner  !* 

"  Third  Letter. 

"  Ochanda  opened  it,  and  finding  only 
an  enclosure  for  *  Herr  Dr.  Schmidt,  Leip- 
zig,' looked  angry,  and  handed  this  to  her 
brother-in-law. 

"■  Fourth  Letter. 

"  This  came  from  Sevilla  ;  and  don  Am- 
ador   saw    those    wonderful    black    eyes 

sparkle.     Ochanda  herself  posted  the  en- 
11 


l62  SENORA    VILLEJVA 

closed  envelope,  leaving  the  house  for 
that  purpose  for  the  first  time  in  several 
weeks. 


"  Fifth  Letter. 

"  Ochanda  glanced  at  the  postmark 
'  Chicago '  and  looked  perplexed.  That 
evening  she  actually  spoke  to  her  sister. 
*  How  long  does  it  take  to  go  from  Sevilla 
to  Chicago  ?'  she  asked ;  and  when  her  sis- 
ter had  told  her,  she  looked  more  perplexed 
than  ever.  When  putting  away  some 
linen,  the  sister  found  in  Ochanda's  bureau 
a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  five  names  and 
addresses  were  written. 


"  Sixth  Letter. 

"  The  sister  said  to  Ochanda,  *  Little  sis- 
ter, will  you  have  the  goodness  to  explain 
your  receiving  from  all  parts  of  the  world 
letters  addressed  in  gentlemen's  handwrit- 
ing and  marked  confidential !' 

"  Seventh  Letter. 

"  Again  Ochanda  spoke.  '  Little  sister,' 
she  asked,  '  can  you  explain  ?' 


SENORA    VILLENA  163 

'*  Eighth  Letter. 

"  Ochanda  listened  attentively  while 
don  Amador  described  to  her  sister  the 
methods  of  an  imaginary  secret  society  of 
dynamiters.  Among  other  things  he  said  : 
*'  It  has  branches  or  chapters  in  all  civil- 
ized countries,  and  of  course  these  chap- 
ters communicate  with  each  other.  But 
in  order  to  keep  the  membership  secret, 
an  ingenious  device  is  resorted  to.  Some 
innocent  person  is  selected  to  transmit 
their  reports,  messages  and  explosives, 
and  of  course  this  cat's-paw  is  changed 
frequently  enough  to  prevent  all  risk  of 
detection.' 

"  Ninth  Letter. 

"■  Ochanda  was  afraid  to  touch  it,  and 
said  to  her  brother-in-law  :  '  Will  you 
please  open  this  for  me  ?' 

"  Tenth  Letter. 

*'  It  was  passed  around  the  table,  for 
everybody's  inspection.  Don  Amador 
studied  the  address  long  and  earnestly. 

''  '  Can  you  tell  anything  as  to  the 
writer  from  the  writing  ?'  the  sister  asked. 


1 64  SEJ^ORA    VILLENA 

"  '  Yes  :  not  with  absolute  certainty,  but 
— yes,  I  can  tell  his  occupation  and  age.' 

"  '  What  ?'  Ochanda  asked  ;  but  imme- 
diately added,  '  Excuse  me,'  and  left  the 
room. 

'''Fifteenth  Letter. 

"  Everyone  in  the  house  was  given  op- 
portunity to  wonder  and  to  guess. 

"  '  If  this  continues,'  said  don  Amador, 
'  we  shall  all  become  Yankees.' 

"  Twentieth  Letter. 

"  Ochanda  had  become,  in  a  totally  new 
sense,  the  center  of  interest.  Nobody 
thought  her  insane,  or  even  obstinate  :  the 
thoughts  of  all  had  taken  a  new  turn. 
A  more  entertaining  topic  of  conversa- 
tion had  been  provided.  What  was  to  be 
the  conclusion  of  all  this  ?  Who  or  what 
was  persecuting  this  innocent  and  charm- 
ing young  girl  ?  It  was  more  exciting 
than  a  play. 

"  '  The  letters  are  rapidly  decreasing  in 
size,'  don  Amador  suggested  :  '  perhaps 
they  will  soon  disappear  altogether.' 

"  Of  all  the  boarders  he  was  the  most 
fertile  in  suggestions  and  the  most  in- 
genious in  putting  the  mysterious  case  in 


seN-qra   villena  165 

new  lights  :  so  then,  in  importance  he  was 
second  only  to  Ochanda,  and  associated 
with  her  in  the  minds  of  all. 

''  In  her  mind,  also  ?  Not  yet,  perhaps. 
She  had  begun  to  act  like  other  people, 
probably  because  her  thought-center  was 
shifted  from  Habana  to  the  uncertain 
source  or  sources  of  those  letters. 

IV 

"  '  Welcome  to  my  apartment,  senor 
Bozmediano.  Will  you  have  some  of  the 
red  wine  ?' 

"  *  Ah,  dona  Carmen,  dona  Carmen ! 
With  you  only  do  I  feel  safe  and  at  ease 
in  this  house.' 

"  '  It  is  scarcely  polite  to  observe  to  a 
lady — even  to  an  old  lady  who  has  had  a 
husband  who  is  with  the  angels — that  you 
feel  safe  in  her  company.' 

"  '  Ah,  little  Carmen,  you  know  well 
that  my  heart  is  wholly  your  own  !' 

"  Bah  !    If  I  had  not  money .     Here 

is  the  good  wine,  senor.  Drink  !  We  are 
too  old  to  dispute.' 

"  '  Dispute,  indeed  !  Ah,  no  :  we  leave 
that  to  the  little  don  Amador  and  that 
blood-thirsty  young  man  from  Habana. 
Would  that    he    had    remained    at   home, 


l66  SEmRA     VILLENA 

that  we  might  have  some  peace  !   Ay  Dios 
mio  !  he  is  terrible.' 

"  '  Never  fear !  He  will  go  home  soon 
enough.' 

''  '  He  will  kill  the  little  Amador  first— 
or  some  of  us  !' 

*'  '  Not  he :  he  blusters  and  swaggers 
too  much  !' 

''  '  But  who  would  have  thought  that 
the  little  Amador  himself  had  sent  those 
letters  ?  Now,  how  he  contrived  to  be 
here  and  to  send  letters  from  Sevilla  and 
San  Francisco  at  the  same  time  is  what  I 
should  like  to  know.' 

''  '  Ca,  Bozmediano,  you  are  little  better 
than  a  fool !  It  amazes  me  that  I  have 
patience  to  receive  your  calls.' 

"  '  Dear  little  Carmen !  We  are  too  old 
to  quarrel :  give  me  therefore  the  least  bit 
more  of  the  good  claret.' 

*'  *  In  one  point  only  you  are  sensible  : 
you  drink  the  wholesome  red  wine.  Boz- 
mediano, I  tell  you,  if  ever  you  take  to 
drinking  white  wine,  I  put  you  out  !  .  .  . 
But  it  was  truly  odd  that  don  Amador 
should  have  addressed  one  of  those  letters 
to  the  old  lover  of  Ochanda,  not  knowing 
that  he  was  even  acquainted  with  her. 
He  might  at  least  have  asked  the   man's 


SENORA    VILLENA  167 

name,  since  he  knew  it  was  someone  in 
Habana.' 

"  '  Oh,  senora  !  No,  no,  not  the  little 
Amador.  He  is  not  inquisitive :  he  is  a 
gentleman.' 

''  '  Bozmediano,  when  I  think  to  put 
you  out,  you  say  something  which  makes 
me  respect  you  ....  And  to  think  that 
Ochanda  forwarded  that  letter,  and  that 
the  scamp  of  a  lover  opened  the  little  one 
inside  to  see  what  stranger  was  writing  to 
his  sweetheart !  And  to  think  that  he  saw 
something  in  the  little  last  envelope  which 

made  him    very  angry  and  that   he 

will  tell  nobody  what  it  was !  I  could 
scream  with  disappointment !' 

"  '  Tell  me  this,  little  Carmen :  How 
does  it  happen  that  the  other  four  little 
envelopes  which  came  last  were  quite 
empty,  while  this  one  which  fell  into  that 
terrible  man's  hands  contained  something 
so  important  ?' 

"  '  Tell  me  this,  senor :  Was  it  neces- 
sary to  put  something  in  each  of  the  last 
envelopes  ?  Would  the  little  don  Amador 
have  to  ask  her  five  times — or  give  her 
five  things,  whatever  it  was  ?  Caramba  ! 
I  shall  not  sleep  to-night  for  trying  to 
think  what  it  could  have  been  !     Can  you 


l68  SENORA    villena 

not  see  that  Ochanda  is  madly  in  love  with 
don  Amador,  and  that  his  little  finger  is 
worth  the  whole  body  of  that  blustering 
rascal  who  opens  confidential  letters,  and 
does  not  tell  what  is  in  them  ?  He  will 
go  back  to  Habana  very  quickly,  I  prom- 
ise you — if,  indeed,  he  has  not  run  away 
already  ....  But  that  message,  that  mes- 
sage— or  whatever  it  was — in  the  little 
envelope  !  The  little  Amador  has  told  the 
little  Ochanda  what  it  was  :  for  see  how 
radiantly  happy  she  is  !' 

"  '  Then  it  must  have  been  a  question : 
the  one  question  which  can  produce  such 
a  result' 

"  '  Oh,  must  have  been  ! — must  have 
been !  That  is  not  enough  :  I  need  to 
know  what  it  was — not  must  have  been !' 

"  '  It  was — shall  I  tell  you  what  it  was  ? 
Ah,  little  Carmen,  do  you  forget  how 
often  I  also  have  asked,  implored  ?  Cruel 
little  Carmen  !' 

"■  *  Ca,  now  I  put  you  out !'  " 


While  Medina  had  been  speaking,  Vin- 
cent had  improved  the  opportunity  ;  and 
his  timely  suggestion  to  senora  Diaz  had 
been,  in  substance,  this :  Both  Gloria  and  I 


SEJSrORA    VILLENA  169 

have  the  highest  esteem  for  Rodriguez. 
To  Teresa  he  had  whispered  :  ''  Rodriguez 
thinks  that  he  has  offended  you,  and  is 
most  unhappy  in  consequence." 

Cousin  Louis  was  still  seated  at  the 
piano, — a  position  which  suggested  his  un- 
questionable superiority  in  the  matter  of 
music,  and  so  lent  authority  to  whatever 
he  might  say,  from  the  eminence  of  the 
piano-stool,  upon  any  matter  which 
chanced  to  be  under  discussion. 

''  Your  story  about  Spaniards,"  he  said 
when  the  applause  which  rewarded  Me- 
dina had  subsided ;  and  then  repeated 
when  he  had  secured  attention,  "j^our 
story,  Medina,  suggests  the  experience 
of  a  young  Cuban  in  whom  I  am  inter- 
ested. He  came  to  New- York  about  two 
months  ago,  with  the  idea  of  seeking  his 
fortune.  It  was  a  crazy  thing  to  do,  for 
he  did  not  know  a  word  of  English  ;  but 
there  was  no  chance  for  him  at  home. 
His  father,  an  old  friend  of  mine,  lives 
near  Espiritu  Santo.  He  is  a  planter: 
you  know  the  rest — ruined  by  the  low 
price  of  sugar.  This  boy  had  never  seen 
a  city — not  even  Habana — until  he  was 
eighteen  years  old.  What  do  you  call 
such   fellows   in    New  England,  Vincent? 


lyo  SENORA    VILLENA 

Hayseeds?  Well,  he  is  the  Cuban  va- 
riety of  country  lout.  A  perfect  green- 
horn !  He  started  out  alone  the  other 
day  to  buy  a  cravat,  and  walked  along 
the  street,  looking  in  the  shop  windows. 
When  he  saw  what  he  wanted  he  went 
into  the  shop,  took  a  clerk  by  the  coat- 
collar,  led  him  out  of  the  door  and  pointed 
to  the  cravat  which  had  struck  his  fancy. 
After  narrowly  escaping  arrest  as  a  luna- 
tic, he  got  the  cravat,  put  it  on  in  the 
shop  and  then  made  his  way  to  a  restaur- 
ant. The  waiter  brought  him  a  long 
printed  bill  of  fare,  of  which  he  could 
not  read  one  word,  but  with  assurance 
he  pointed  to  the  first  item.  The  waiter 
nodded,  went  away  and  presently  re- 
turned with  mock-turtle  soup.  *Ah,  it  is 
not  so  difficult  to  get  along  in  this  coun- 
try', thought  Perico ;  and  when  he  had 
finished  his  mock-turtle  soup  smiled  at  the 
waiter  and  put  his  finger  on  the  second 
item  of  the  menu.  '  Very  good,  sir,'  said 
the  waiter,  and  brought  a  dish  of  tomato 
soup.  Perico  was  hungry,  and  managed 
to  finish  this  also.  '  Now  for  something 
solid',  he  said  to  himself,  pointing  to  the 
third  and  fourth  items.  '  Very  good  in- 
deed, sir !'  said  the  waiter,  and    brought 


SENORA     VILLENA  J71 

vegetable  soup  and  ox-tail  soup.  Perico 
would  not  let  it  appear  that  he  had  made 
a  mistake ;  so  tasted  each  of  these.  '  I 
have  begun  at  the  liquid  end  of  this  list ', 
Perico  reflected ;  '  but  I  cannot  eat  so 
much  as  the  Americans.  I  shall  at  once 
call  for  the  most  substantial  dish' — and  he 
pointed  to  the  last  item  on  the  bill  of  fare. 
In  obedience  to  this  command  the  waiter 
brought  him  toothpicks." 

'' Iss  he  a  lean,  or  iss  he  a  fat?"  asked 
senora  Villena. 

'*  He  belongs  to  the  fat  order :  a  big- 
chested  fellow  with  splendid  physique," 
answered  cousin  Louis ;  and  then  ex- 
plained, for  the  benefit  of  the  Americans 
present :  ''  We  divide  all  Cubans  who 
come  here  into  two  classes.  In  one  class 
we  put  the  smoke-dried,  indifferent  peo- 
ple, who  never  amount  to  anything. 
They  are  the  lean — sometimes  we  call 
them  threads.  In  the  other  class  we  put 
the  wide-awake,  strong,  capable  people. 
They  are  the  fat.  The  average  American 
thinks  that  there  is  only  one  class — the 
class  we  call  '  lean' — in  all  the  West  Indies. 
You  ask  him,  'What  is  a  West  Indian?' 
He  answers,  'K  Cuban'.  'And  what  is  a 
Cuban?'      'Oh,    a    yellow-skinned    mortal 


172  SEiSfORA    VILLENA 

who  inhales  strong  cigars  before  break- 
fast'. But  I  have  seen,  even  in  Cuba, 
such  arms  and  chests  as  a  professional 
athlete  might  envy.  This  Perico  is  one 
of  that  kind.  He  is  a  great,  honest,  sim- 
ple-minded lad,  with  a  neck  like  a  bull — 
and  a  voice  I  He  has  been  begging  me 
piteously  to  train  it  for  him  ;  but  I  do  not 
understand  the  voice.  I  know  only  this 
instrument," — striking  a  chord  on  the 
piano. 

"  The  poor  boy  !"  said  Concha.  ''  Is  his 
voice  really  so  fine  ?" 

"  Magnificent  possibilities  !"  exclaimed 
cousin  Louis.  ''  If  he  has  a  good  master 
now,  we,  for  our  part,  shall  have  a  Cuban 
Brignoli  in  New-York.  But  without 
training  now,  he  will  contract  bad  habits, 
and  that  will  be  the  end  of  it.  He  has  no 
money,  and  I,  as  you  all  know,  am  poor." 

Gloria  had  drawn  near  to  cousin  Louis, 
and  was  thoughtfully  turning  over  a  pile 
of  sheet-music  on  the  piano.  ''  Play  this 
song  of  Gounod,"  she  said,  leaning  over 
his  shoulder  to  put  the  music  before  him, 
and  as  she  did  so  asking  in  a  whisper : 
"  Would  two  hundred  dollars  do  any  good 
— to  begin  with  ?" 

In  the  same  tone  he  answered :  ''  Quite 


SEJ^OFA    VILLENA  173 

enough",  and  then  began  to  play  the  ac- 
companiment to  ^^  Ah !  si  vous  saviez\ 
while  Medina  sang  that  exquisite  entreaty 
in  a  fashion  to  delight  a  musician  but  to 
shock  a  linguist.  Has  there  ever  lived  a 
Spaniard  who  could  pronounce  French 
correctly  ? 

Then    he   sang    something   of    his   own 
composition  which  he  called 


^  Serenabe  to  Nobob^ 

She  sleeps,  she  sleeps,  my  lady  fair, 

Yet  ever  in  my  sight ; 
A  throbbing  star  is  in  her  hair 

And  her  robe  is  the  soft  moonlight. 
Dear,  gentle  winds  that  come  and  go. 

Bear  her  my  note  of  love  ; 
I  am  her  servant  here  below 

And  she  is  my  queen  above. 

Her  fragrant  breath  is  on  my  face. 

Yet  far  awa)^  she  seems  ; 
And  though  I'm  held  in  her  embrace, 

I  am  not  in  her  dreams. 
Dear,  gentle  winds,  that  to  and  fro 

Bear  goblin,  sprite  and  elf, 
Be  pleased  to  say,  (she'll  never  know) 

My  love  is  the  night  itself  ! 


When    this    song    was   finished    cousin 
Louis  swung  around  to  face  his  audience 


174  SE^ORA     VILLENA 

and  said,  with  a  very  happy  light  in  his 
eyes  :  ''  My  friends — and  especially  my 
dear  Vincent — if  ever  I  am  rich  enough 
to  marry,  I  shall  look  for  a  wife  who  will 
be  content  to  economize  in  the  matter  of 
bracelets  in  order  to  send  a  great  melodi- 
ous voice  to  speak  of  beauty  to  all  men  in 
the  chosen  language  of  beauty."  Only 
Vincent  and  Gloria  understood  this  refer- 
ence to  bracelets  and  realized  that  Perico 
had  found  a  patroness,  but  no  one  dared 
to  question  :  cousin  Louis  had  spoken  from 
the  piano-stool. 

While  Medina  was  singing  Vincent 
watched  Teresa  most  narrowly.  He  saw 
that  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  meet  those  of 
Rodriguez ;  he  saw  that  Rodriguez  con- 
strued this  as  permission  to  approach  her ; 
he  saw  that  senora  Diaz  did  not  disap- 
prove. Going  to  the  window  he  drew 
aside  the  curtain,  raised  the  sash  and 
threw  the  blinds  wide  open. 

*'  See  !"  he  said. 

"  The  dawn  !"  cried  Concha. 

The  fragrant  air  of  morning  poured  in 
through  the  open  window,  bringing  with 
it  that  incomparable  suggestion  of  the 
young  life  of  a  summer's  day.  How 
quickly  they  all  responded  to   that  pure 


S£A^OJ?M    VILLENA  175 

and  tender  suggestion,  in  silence  drawing 
together  before  the  window  and  gazing 
out  upon  the  smooth  lawn  with  its  clus- 
ters of  bright  flowers  !  They  heard  the 
leaves  of  the  little  maple-tree  near  the 
arbor  whispering  as  a  gentle  breeze 
stirred  them.  A  branch  of  honeysuckle, 
heavy  with  dew  and  laden  with  bloom, 
broke  away  from  its  fastening  at  the  lintel 
and,  slowly  swaying  to  and  fro  before 
their  faces,  sank  downward  and  lay  out- 
stretched on  the  turf. 

Rodriguez  and  Teresa  were  standing 
behind  the  mother.  For  an  instant  their 
hands  met. 

Medina  was  the  first  to  speak,  uncon- 
sciously trying  to  analyze  the  charm  of  the 
scene.  '^  There  is  not  the  broad  sunshine 
which  we  love,"  he  said  :  '*  there  is  also 
not  one  shadow." 

"  Hush  !"  said  senora  Villena,  her  finger 
at  her  lips. 

''  Where  is  your  husband  ?"  Mrs.  Blake 
asked  Gloria,  in  a  whisper. 

"Calla,  Hush!"  the  senora  repeated. 
"  The  leetle  birds  they  begin  to  wake 
op!" 

No,  these  were  not  bird-voices,  but 
tones  infinitely  more  sweet.     We   like  to 


176  SENORA    vtllena 

deceive  ourselves,  and  sometimes  we  ask 
Nature  to  sympathize  in  our  moods. 
Nature  has  no  heart  but  that  which  beats 
in  the  breast  of  the  man  who  loves  her. 
That  silent  company  of  men  and  women 
who  loved  Nature  heard  her  many  voices, 
warmed  and  made  significant  by  the  heart 
which  puts  its  own  meaning  into  them. 
Vincent's  warm  and  generous  heart  or 
that  of  the  old  violin  ? — for  such  a  violin  is 
no  part  of  stockish  nature  :  it  has  a  heart, 
put  into  it  by  its  maker  and  kept  alive 
in  it  by  generations  of  masters  who  have 
told  it  their  secrets  in  passionate  confi- 
dence. I  cannot  determine  whether  it 
was  the  master  or  the  violin  which  inter- 
preted to  them  the  thrill  of  dawn,  for  I 
cannot  separate  such  a  master  from  such 
an  instrument.  Ask  cousin  Louis  :  he  is  a 
musician. 

Cousin  Louis  ?  He  would  not  have 
answered  any  question  whatever  then. 
Even  after  this  music  ceased  he  heard 
nothing  else,  he  saw  nothing  at  all.  Al- 
though Vincent  had  said  to  him  before 
leaving  the  room  :  "  I  put  you  in  charge : 
keep  them  in  view !"  he  did  not  notice 
that  Rodriguez  and  Silverspoon  had  paid 
their   respects    to   the   hostess   and   gone 


SEJ70RA    VILLENA  Z// 

away  together  until  Teresa  put  her  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"  Do  you  know  why  the  senor  is  leav- 
ing the  house  at  this  hour?"  she  asked. 

''  Leaving  !     How  long  ago  ?" 

''An  instant.  He  and  Mr.  Silverspoon 
must  be  in  the  hall  still." 

Cousin  Louis  hurried  out  and  found  the 
two  gentlemen  just  passing  out  of  the 
front  door.  Waiting  only  to  put  on  his 
hat  and  throw  a  light  coat  over  his  should- 
ers, he  soon  overtook  them.  He  was  con- 
triving an  apology  for  this  intrusion  when 
Rodriguez  turned  an  unmistakably  happy 
face  upon  him  and  exclaimed  : 

"  I  have  wanted  very  much  to  see  you, 
senor,  to  ask  your  permission  and  assist- 
ance in  a  certain  matter.  This  is  most 
fortunate  !" 

''  My  dear  fellow,  you  do  not  need  as- 
sistance," said  Silverspoon.  "  You  should 
have  seen  the  look  she  gave  me  when  I 
praised  you  this  evening." 

"  So  that  was  what  you  were  saying  to 
Teresa  !"  cousin  Louis  exclaimed. 

''  Certainly.  Won't  you  walk  down  to 
the  hotel  with  us?"  Louis  eagerly  con- 
sented ;  so  they  locked  arms  and  proceed- 
ed together. 

12 


178  SENORA   villena 

"  I  asked  our  friend  Rodriguez  to  give 
me  a  chance  for  a  good  quiet  talk,"  Silver- 
spoon  began  to  say,  after  a  moment  of  si- 
lence ;  but  cousin  Louis  interrupted. 

''  Yon  asked  him!''  he  exclaimed.  ''Oh, 
I  had  not  thought  of  that." 

"  Yes,  I  asked  him.  Why,  what's  up  ?" 
said  the  Englishman. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  Only  I  thought — no 
matter  now  what  I  thought !  And  then  I 
saw  and  heard  several  things  to  confirm 
my  suspicion  —  never  mind  what.  And 
certainly  Rodriguez  did  look  angry — but 
let  that  pass.  If  you  made  the  appoint- 
ment with  hwi,  that  changes  the  face  of 
matters."  It  occurred  to  cousin  Louis 
that  Vincent  would  try  not  to  laugh  when 
he  should  hear  how  he  had  been  misled, 
and  the  thought  was  annoying. 

"  Can't  say  I  understand  you  alto- 
gether," said  Silverspoon ;  ''  but  I  fancy 
my  head  is  not  so  clear  as  it  might  be.  I 
have  been  spending  the  evening  with 
some  friends.  But  on  one  subject  I  enter- 
tain positive  convictions.  I  am  absolutely 
sure  that  I  am  the  happiest  Englishman  in 
America.  This  is  what  I  wanted  to  tell 
you,  Rodriguez  ;  and  now  that  I  have  you 
both  by  the  arm  so   that   you   can't   get 


SEmRA    VILLENA  lyg 

away  from  me  until  I  have  finished,  listen  ! 
One  year  ago,  when  I  was  at  home,  I 
wrote  a  question  on  a  bit  of  paper  and 
put  it  in  the  hand  of  the  sweetest  girl  in 
Warwickshire.  Yesterday  I  got  her  an- 
swer. Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about 
her  until  I  am  satisfied." 

But  I  must  not  report  what  was  said 
about  the  sweetest  girl  in  Warwickshire, 
for  Rodriguez's  path  to  Teresa  has  been 
cleared  of  fancied  obstacles,  and  my  pur- 
pose has  been  to  describe  only  those  en- 
tertainments which  were  planned  in  con- 
sequence of  senora  Villena's  having  waked 
one  morning  with  a  pain  in  her  shoulder 


THE   END 


GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Not  in  Utopia,  subterranean  Fields, 

Or  some  secreted  Island,  Heaven  knows  where  ! 

But  in  the  very  world,  which  is  the  world 

Of  all  of  us,— the  place  where  in  the  end 

We  find  our  happiness,  or  not  at  all  ! 

—  Wordsworth. 


PREFACE 

There  are  to  be  found  in  Oldhaven  two 
types  of  character  which  can  be  studied 
nowhere  else,  I  think,  to  greater  advantage. 
One  type  is  that  of  the  self-respecting, 
studious,  yet  easy-going  townsman,  whose 
aspect  is  grave  but  who  has  nevertheless  a 
keen  sense  of  the  humorous  and  whimsical ; 
who  has  conservative  views  upon  every 
subject ;  whose  muscles  are  exercised  and 
whose  charities  are  dispensed  with  regu- 
larity ;  for  although  his  circulation  is  slow, 
his  conscience  is  active.  Such  a  man  is 
Mr.  Horace  Penman,  who  has  been  men- 
tioned in  the  foregoing  pages.  Mr.  Pen- 
man dislikes  foreigners,  excepting  those 
whose  acquaintance  he  has  made.  All 
those  whom  he  has  met  socially  (as,  for 
example,  Mrs.  Vincent  and  her  friends)  he 
finds  charming ;  but  they,  he  persists  in 
believing,  are  exceptions  to  the  rule.  In 
this  the  man's  character  comes  out  very 
clearly  ;  for  while  his  rule  is  narrow  his 
practice  is  liberal.     His  opinions  in  their 


4  PREFACE 

severity  bear  the  stamp  of  the  law  ;  but  he 
will  make,  one  at  a  time,  so  many  equitable 
distinctions  that  no  person  who  knows  him 
well  thinks  him  severe.  The  impression 
which  he  makes  upon  slight  acquaintance, 
however,  is  commonly  unfavorable.  Mrs. 
Rutherfurd  Davenport,  one  of  the  prettiest 
brides  in  Oldhaven,  in  the  course  of  her 
comments  upon  Mr.  Penman  said  to  me 
the  other  day :  "  People  who  know  a  great 
deal  can't  impart  it,  and  yet  they  can  let 
people  know  that  they  know  a  great  deal." 
The  second  type  is  that  of  the  woman 
who  is  intellectual,  but  who  has  no  regular 
occupation  for  her  mind.  Her  intellect- 
uality is  question  of  taste,  not  of  profit. 
She  is  therefore  not  thoroughly  intellectual, 
but  retains  in  great  measure  the  mere 
womanly  dependence  and  impulsiveness. 
With  a  facility  which  is  sometimes  as- 
tounding she  captures  the  outposts  of 
various  sciences  and  gets  a  reading  know- 
ledge of  various  languages ;  but  she  is 
herself  never  mastered  and  reduced  to 
habits  of  orderly  thinking  by  the  spirit  of 
genuine  learning.  She  is  a  woman  ;  she  is 
also  somewhat  of  a  scholar ;  but  much 
more  woman  than  scholar.  She  is  sur- 
prising.     Do  not  fancy  that  through  any 


PREFACE  J- 

knowledge  you  may  have  of  either  women 
or  scholars  you  will  be  enabled  to  form  an 
idea  of  what   she   will   do   next.     Such  a 
woman,  but  lifted  by  her  beauty  and  social 
influence  above  the  bonnets  of  the  class  to 
which  she  belongs,  is  Mrs.  Winthrop  Eaton. 
These   people,    Mr.    Penman   and    Mrs. 
Eaton,  have  been  in  my  mind  for  a  long 
time.     Little  by  little  they  have  told  me 
about  themselves  and  about  other  people 
whom    they  know.     Little  by  little   their 
story  has  become  so  distinct  that  it  now 
seems  part  of  my  own  experience ;   but  I 
could    not,  if    I    tried,  tell  it   in   my  own 
words.     Inevitably  I  should  fall  into  their 
manner    of    expression.      It    seems    best, 
therefore,  that  with  this  brief  explanation 
I  should  step  back  and  let  them  in  their 
own  fashion  impart  to  you  their  several 
and  very  different  views  of  the  same  mat- 
ter. 


Part  I— By  Mr.  PENMAN 


OSKAWASK  IN  THE  YEAR  1855. 

F  the  house  is  an  apology  for  a 
dwelling-place,  at  least  it  occu- 
pies an  humbly  apologetic  posi- 
tion. A  sandy  hill-side  slopes 
down  to  a  sluggish,  weedy  little  stream, 
and  just  beyond  this  stream  stands  the 
house  in  question. 

"  '  After  you,  sir  or  madame,'  says  this 
humble  dwelling  to  the  brook  ;  and  so, 
year  after  year,  it  has  waited  for  the 
stream  to  pass  in  front  of  it.  At  least  I 
can  see  no  better  reason  why  the  dwelling 
should  stand  in  this  boggy,  low  place." 

Meditating  in  this  fashion,  I,  Horace 
Penman,  paused  for  a  moment  before  the 
humble  cottage  at  the  foot  of  the  sandy 
hill  and  beside  the  weedy  stream. 

"What  sort  of  man  is  the  owner?"  I 
asked  myself.  "  Has  a  traveler  a  fair  pros- 
pect of  being  received  and  "sheltered  for 
the  night  here  ?" 


8        GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

It  was  the  9th  of  November,  in  the  year 
1855.  Night  was  drawing  on,  a  storm 
was  gathering  in  the  west  and  I  knew  that 
the  nearest  tavern  was  ten  miles  distant. 

I  was  on  my  way  from  Oldhaven  to  Bos- 
ton, traveling,  as  was  most  agreeable  in  the 
bracing  air  of  late  autumn,  on  horseback. 

As  the  result  of  my  reflections  I  dis- 
mounted, threw  the  bridle  over  a  picket 
of  the  tumble-down  fence  separating  the 
front  yard  from  the  highway,  and  ad- 
vanced toward  the  rambling,  unpainted 
house.  As  I  placed  my  foot  upon  the 
lower  step,  the  door  was  opened  before 
me,  and  in  the  doorway  stood  a  man  of 
middle  age — a  tall,  lean  figure,  slouching 
forward.  Rusty,  faded  homespun  trous- 
ers, supported  by  a  single  suspender  from 
the  left  shoulder,  heavy  boots,  coarse 
shirt,  open  at  the  neck — such  were  the 
garments  of  the  man  in  the  doorway.  He 
looked  at  me  with  a  marked  absence  of 
interest. 

''  Good  evening,"  I  said.  ''  Could  you 
take  me  in  for  the  night  ?" 

He  shut  a  large  jack-knife  which  he  was 
holding  in  his  right  hand  and  put  it  into 
his  pocket.  This  was  done  very  slowly. 
Then   he  examined  a   piece   of   soft   pine 


MR,   PENMAN'S    VERSION  Q 

which  he  held  in  his  left  hand.  This  he 
did  very  attentively. 

"  Good  evening,"  I  began  to  repeat, 
raising  my  voice. 

"  Waal,"  drawled  the  person  thus  urged, 
''  I  don'  know.  I  guess  I'll  go  an'  ask 
Israel." 

'*  Jonathan  !"  piped  a  shrill  voice  from 
within  the  house,  ''  Jonathan,  ask  the  gen- 
tleman to  come  in  to  the  fire." 

I  did  not  wait  for  a  second  invitation, 
but  crossed  the  threshold  and  made  the 
best  of  my  way  in  the  direction  indicated 
by  the  shrill  voice. 

"  Jonathan  Slyme,  I  am  surprised  at  you 
for  letting  the  gentleman  stand  in  the 
cold  !"  exclaimed  a  little  woman  whom  I 
found  seated  before  an  open  wood  fire. 

"  Why,  Saray,"  supplicated  her  hus- 
band, ''  I  was  a-goin'  ter  ask  him  ter  come 
in.  I  jes  kinder  thought  I  might  as  well 
ask  Israel  first." 

A  brief  silence  followed  this  remarlk. 
Sarah  and  Jonathan  looked  at  one  another, 
and  the  stranger  glanced  about  the  room. 

The  room  was  long  and  narrow  and 
low,  scantily  furnished  with  six  or  eight 
rude  chairs  and  an  extension  table  which 
was  set  with  half-a-dozen  plates  and  dishes 


lO       GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

of  different  patterns.  The  bare  floor  was 
very  uneven.  There  were  two  curtainless 
windows  at  the  end  nearest  the  highway, 
and  at  each  of  these  a  young  woman  was 
seated,  bent  over  her  sewing.  The  gen- 
erous hearth,  before  which  their  mother 
sat,  was  piled  high  with  logs,  great  and 
small,  through  which  the  bright  flame  was 
climbing  upward,  curling  about  the  ends 
which  showed  marks  of  the  axe,  fastening 
upon  projecting  bits  of  dried  bark,  leaping 
from  lower  to  upper,  gaining  the  topmost 
log,  and  then  shooting  straight  upward  in 
spears  of  white  light.  Is  there  anyone 
who  doubts  that  this  royal  adornment 
may  supply  the  place  of  all  those  objects 
with  which  we,  now  in  the  day  of  registers 
and  radiators,  strive  to  beautify  our  rooms  ? 

"  Israel  is  coming  right  back,  and  then 
we  can  ask  him,  Jonathan,"  said  Sarah. 
"  Sit  down,  sir.  He  is  gone  to  fetch  in 
some  more  logs.  He  is  the  greatest  hand 
to  make  a  fire  !" 

This  was  said  with  so  much  pride  that  I 
saw  my  advantage  in  humoring  her  by 
talking  about  this  Israel,  whoever  he 
might  be. 

"  So,  madame,  have  I  to  thank  him  for 
this  very  agreeable  blaze?"  I  asked,  rub- 


MR,   PENMAN'S    VERSION  II 

bing  my  hands  and  holding  them  out 
towards  it  with  sincere  appreciation. 

"■  Yes,  sir,  my  son  Israel  does  everything 
good  that  is  done  around  here,"  she  re- 
plied, with  a  look  of  contempt  directed 
towards  her  unprosperous  husband.  He, 
however,  far  from  resenting  this  thrust, 
nodded  slowly  several  times,  repeating : 
"  Yaas,  I  guess  he  dews  pretty  much  all 
the  good  as  is  done  around  here,  in  Oska- 
wask,"  whereupon  he  leaned  his  rounded 
shoulders  against  the  mantel-shelf,  thrust 
his  hand  slowly  into  the  depths  of  his 
pocket  and,  after  fumbling  in  a  way  which 
showed  that  the  object  sought  was  one  of 
many  things  in  that  ample  receptacle,  pro- 
duced the  jack-knife,  opened  its  single 
large  blade  and  fell  to  work  upon  the 
piece  of  pine  which  he  still  held. 

This  seemed  a  favorable  omen.  He  ac- 
cepted the  traveler's  presence  and  turned 
his  attention  again  to  the  interrupted  em- 
ployment. It  was  clear  enough  to  me  now 
that  Jonathan  accepted  things  as  they  were. 

Such  being  the  disposition  of  the  nat- 
ural head  of  this  family  it  was  evident 
enough  also  why  his  house  stood  on  the 
edge  of  a  marsh  and  not  elsewhere :  he 
had  found  it  there. 


12       GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

That  is  not  a  very  startling  conclusion  ; 
but  it  was  interesting-  to  me  at  the  time 
because  it  instructed  me  that,  so  far  as 
Jonathan  was  concerned,  I  might  stay 
over-night. 

Yet  it  seemed  to  depend  upon  Israel 
and  Israel's  decision. 


ISRAEL 

EROES  find  safety  in  their  very 
fearlessness.  Their  reckless  dis- 
regard of  caution  carries  all  be- 
fore them  with  a  rush,  and  the 
blow  which  was  intended  for  their  heads 
falls  upon  some  sluggish  follower.  So,  at 
least,  those  gentlemen,  who  from  the  se- 
curity of  their  studies  send  forth  descrip- 
tions of  heroic  lives,  have  repeatedly  as- 
sured us. 

But  as  for  me,  whose  ambition  it  has 
been  to  lead  a  happy  life  and  not  neces- 
sarily an  heroic  one,  I  do  not  scruple  to 
acknowledge  my  obligation  to  the  spirit 
of  caution  which  has  constantly  animated 
me,  as  in  the  moment  preceding  the  ap- 
pearance of  Israel. 

After  satisfying  myself  that  no  opposi- 
tion was  to  be  feared  from  the  easy-going 
Jonathan  or  the  bright-eyed  Mrs.  Sarah, 
I  glanced  again  towards  the  young  women 
seated  at  the  windows,  to  see  if  they 
looked  hospitably  inclined  and  to  secure 

13 


14      GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

their  good-will,  perhaps,  through  some  lit- 
tle courtesy.  They  were  looking  up,  their 
eyes  fixed  upon  some  object  at  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  room.  I  had  barely  time 
to  notice  that  they  were  decidedly  pretty 
and  dressed  exactly  alike  before  a  ringing 
voice  cried  ''  Hello  !"  at  the  back  door. 
The  brisk  little  mother  sprung  from  her 
chair  and  threw  the  door  wide  open. 

There  stood  a  young  man,  bearing  three 
or  four  large  white  birch  logs  upon  his 
shoulder. 

Going  quickly  to  the  hearth,  he  laid 
dowm  the  heavy  logs  easily  as  though 
they  had  been  so  many  twigs,  threw  back 
his  shoulders  and  said  :  ''  That  will  do  for 
to-night."  Then,  looking  me  full  in  the 
face  with  a  smile  of  perfect  good-will,  he 
offered  his  hand,  saying,  '*  I  am  glad  to 
see  you,  sir." 

I  was  a  little  staggered  by  the  confi- 
dence and  ease  of  the  boy's  bearing.  This 
did  not  prevent  my  seizing  the  offered 
hand,  however, — the  first  hand  which  had 
been  offered  me  in  this  house  in  which  I 
desired  to  be  received  as  guest.  I  seized 
the  hand,  Avhich  was  no  larger  than  my 
own,  and  tried  to  squeeze  it. 

Think    of    trying    to    squeeze    Charles 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  IJ 

XII's  hand,  or  the  Russian  Peter's — hands 
that  crushed  horseshoes  !  The  man  who 
offers  such  a  hand  to  the  world,  the  world 
may  hate,  perhaps,  but  Avill  surely  respect. 
Fortunately  the  younger  man  did  not 
return  the  pressure  and  crush  me.  So 
then,  I  did  not  hate  him,  but  respected  his 
physical  superiority. 

*'  Israel,"  began  the  mother,  ''  this  gen- 
tleman wants  us  to  keep  him " 

''  Over-night  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  son,  if  you " 

''  Of  course,"  said  Israel,  with  ready 
decision,  turning  to  the  guest  again. 
'*  You  are  welcome.  You  shall  have  my 
own  room." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  brother  Israel  !  We  think 
that  he  had  better  have  ours,  don't  we,  sis- 
ter Grace  ?"  said  one  of  the  young  women. 
"  Yes,  we  think  brother  Israel  must  not 
be  disturbed  in  the  evening,  don't  we,  sis- 
ter Gertrude  ?"  assented  the  other. 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  Israel,  "  I'll  camp-out 
here  before  the  fire,  as  you  know  I  like  to 
do.  Grace  and  Gertrude,  you  may  do 
your  part  by  bringing  me  a  bolster  and 
blanket  when  the  time  comes.  I  shall 
have  the  best  of  you  all,  here  before  the 
fire,  for  it  is  going  to  storm  like  parson 


1 6       GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Dewback  denouncing  slavery."  Putting 
an  arm  about  each  sister,  he  drew  them 
toward  the  window  ;  then  catching  sight 
of  my  horse,  he  said :  ''  Come  with  me, 
sir,  and  we  will  put  him  up." 

Without  waiting  for  me  he  went  quickly 
down  to  the  gate  and  led  the  tired  animal 
in  between  two  leafless  lilac  trees  which 
did  sentinel  duty  at  each  post,  between 
the  stumps  of  coarse  flowers  which  skirted 
the  walk,  to  the  front  door.  There  I 
joined  him  and  together  we  led  my  horse 
to  a  wood-shed  (there  being  no  better  ac- 
commodation) at  the  rear  of  the  house. 

When  we  returned,  after  performing 
this  duty,  preparation  for  supper  was  be- 
ing made  :  a  generous  supper,  never  to  be 
forgotten !  After  all  these  years  I  could 
tell  you  what  we  had,  even  to  the  several 
varieties  of  pie,  dressed  with  frills  of  paste 
and  ornamental  patches  upon  their  round, 
upturned,  homely  faces.  These  are  not 
slight  matters  if  one  holds,  with  the  Ger- 
mans, that  one  is  what  one  eats,  or  with 
the  French  that  he  works  well  who  eats 
well.  I  remember  also  how  the  father 
took  his  place  behind  his  chair  while  the 
others  ranged  themselves  according  to 
dignity ;  and  how  all  stood  while  a  formal 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  17 

grace-before-meat  was  pronounced ;  and 
how  Samuel  entered  without  greeting  me 
and  sat  through  the  meal  without  uttering 
one  word. 

Samuel  was  but  a  year  or  two  younger 
than  Israel,  and  yet  the  brothers  were  in 
appearance  so  unlike  that  at  first  I  thought 
it  scarcely  possible  that  they  could  be 
children  of  the  same  parents.  Both  were 
rather  above  middle  size  ;  but  while  this 
fact  was  noticeable  in  the  case  of  Samuel, 
whose  narrow,  sloping  shoulders  sug- 
gested that  he  had  grown  beyond  his 
strength,  Israel's  figure  was  so  perfectly 
proportioned  that  an  observer  would  need 
to  compare  it  with  other  objects  in  order 
to  determine  whether  it  was  tall  or  short. 

There  is  a  period  of  overflowing  physi- 
cal strength  which  visits  some  favored 
persons  before  maturity  sets  in.  Then  the 
great  muscles,  swelling  beneath  the  skin 
still  soft  and  smooth  as  a  woman's,  seem 
marvelous.  Israel  was  one  of  these  fav- 
ored persons,  and  his  strength  made  him 
noble  in  every  movement. 

As  for  Samuel,  he  neither  had  nor  de- 
desired  great  muscles.  To  have  had  them 
would  have  meant  just  so  much  more  farm 
work. 


1 8      GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

The  most  striking  difference  was  in  the 
coloring  of  the  two  young  men.  Samuel 
had  light,  reddish  hair  and  a  sallow  com- 
plexion. Israel's  hair  was  black  and  crisp, 
his  eyes  well  set,  almost  black  and  spark- 
ling with  vivacity,  his  cheek  smooth,  with 
a  ruddy-brown  tint.  On  his  right  cheek 
was  a  small  mark  of  singular  appearance. 
Although  too  small  to  be  disfiguring,  it 
had  a  clear  outline  suggesting  some  famil- 
iar object — I  could  not  at  first  think  what. 

While  we  were  still  at  table  the  door 
was  opened  and  a  woman  entered. 

''  Here  comes  Lilly,"  said  the  mother, 
quickest  to  speak  and  quickest  to  act. 

"  Miss  Lilly  Lincoln,"  Israel  explained, 
as  she  came  forward  rather  bashfully,  not 
having  expected  to  find  a  stranger. 

Well  do  I  remember  how  poor  Lilly 
Lincoln  looked  as  I  saw  her  for  the  first 
time,  with  her  delicate,  earnest,  wistful 
face  and  interesting  eyes.  How  can  a 
climate,  which  produces  no  more  gener- 
ous beverage  than  cider,  produce  the  in- 
tense, passionate  nature  which  looks  out 
from  such  eyes  as  Lilly  Lincoln's?  With 
all  our  long  winters  and  long  sermons  in- 
culcating hatred  of  the  flesh,  there  are 
hearts  beating  as  wildly,  as  quick  to  take 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  IQ 

fire,  as  impetuous  in  their  demand  for 
love,  here  in  New  England  as  any  in  An- 
dalusia. We  cannot  boast  of  wine,  women 
and  song  ;  but  at  least  we  have  cider, 
women  and  sermons.  "  Who  does  not  love 
wine,  women  and  song,  remains  a  fool  his 
whole  life  long,"  said  Dr.  Martin  Luther. 

The  two  sisters  encircled  their  friend 
with  their  arms  and  drew  her  towards  the 
fire.  All  arose  from  the  table,  as  our  re- 
past was  already  finished.  A  glance  full 
of  meaning  was  exchanged  by  Israel  and 
Lilly,  while  the  parents  accepted  her 
presence  without  comment,  as  that  of  a 
familiar  guest.  Miss  Gertrude  introduced 
me  to  the  new  comer.  Miss  Gertrude,  it 
is  to  be  observed,  because  this  slight  cir- 
cumstance bore  precious  fruit  long  after- 
ward, had  been  my  neighbor  at  table  and 
therefore  felt  better  acquainted  with  me 
than  did  her  sister. 

"  Don't  you  think  brother  Israel  looks 
as  though  he  would  like  her?"  asked  Miss 
Grace. 

"  We  do,"  murmured  Miss  Gertrude. 

*^  Why,  yes — yes  indeed  ;  in  fact  anyone 
must,"  I  said,  wishing  that  someone  would 
interrupt  and  so  save  me  from  the  neces- 
sity of  concluding. 


20       GRA  Y :   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

"  We  do,"  echoed  Miss  Grace ;  *'  and  we 
think  he  is  a  sweet  fellow.  He  will  be 
twenty-one  day  after  to-morrow,"  she 
added. 

During  this  naive  conversation,  which 
somehow  had  the  effect  of  making  me  feel 
wonderfully  at  home,  I  was  standing  op- 
posite Mrs.  Slyme,  who  had  resumed  her 
favorite  corner  by  the  fire-side.  I  noticed 
in  her  bright,  intelligent  little  face  a  new 
expression — an  expression  of  thoughtful 
curiosity.  .  ''  But,  dear  me,"  I  said  to  my- 
self, *'she  is  looking  at  the  buttons  on  my 
coat :  they  cannot  be  the  occasion  of  that 
expression." 

While  we  were  thus  grouped  about  the 
fire,  the  storm  commenced  to  rage  out- 
side with  such  violence  that  Lilly  was 
not  permitted  to  return  to  her  home. 
The  sisters  amiably  disputed  as  to  which 
should  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  sacrificing 
her  wish  to  have  Lilly  for  bed-fellow,  and 
Israel  suggested  that  they  should  solve 
the  difficulty  by  putting  a  bed  for  her  in 
the  little  room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
All  this  was  discussed  so  affectionately ! 
I  wish  that  I  could  do  justice  to  the  fine 
spirit  which  animated  this  group  of  four 
young  country  people.     I  soon  took  occa- 


MR.   PENMAN'S   VERSION  21 

sion  to  ask  that  I  might  be  shown  my 
room,  and  Avas  accordingly  conducted 
by  Israel  up  a  narrow,  creaking  stair- 
case. 

Israel's  room  was  extremely  simple,  its 
only  ornaments  being  a  bouquet  of  pressed 
autumn  leaves  and  dried  grasses  and  one 
picture.  This  last  was  the  portrait  of  a 
young  man  ;  an  oil  painting,  showing  hon- 
est work  without  much  technical  skill  on 
the  part  of  the  artist.  At  that  time  I 
prided  myself  upon  being  a  tolerably 
good  judge  of  painting,  and  examined  it 
closely. 

"  Why,  it  must  be  a  hundred  years  old  !" 
I  said. 

""  It  is  almost  that,"  said  Israel. 

''  But,  if  it  were  not  for  the  evident  age 
of  the  painting,  I  would  take  oath  that 
you  are  the  subject." 

"  It  is  my  great-grandfather,"  he  replied. 
'*  Here — when  I  hold  the  light  to  it,  you 
see  the  dress,  almost  faded  out  of  sight. 
Can  you  make  out  an  old-fashioned  lace 
collar  and  embroidery  there  ?  If  he  had 
more  than  one  coat  like  this,  he  must  have 
been  a  swell.  It  is  clearly  not  myself, 
although  the  resemblance  of  the  face  is 
striking,    even    to    this    mark"  —  and    he 


22       GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

pointed    out   a   spot   on   the   right   cheek 
of  his  ancestor. 

As  he  spoke,  the  right  side  of  his  own 
face  was  turned  to  me,  and  I  glanced 
again  at  the  curious  mark  which  I  had 
before  noticed.  It  seemed  that  at  the 
mention  of  the  ancestor's  blemish  (for  it 
amounted  to  that  in  the  portrait)  this  spot 
on  Israel's  cheek  became  instantly  more 
distinct,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  recog- 
nizing the  outlines  of  a  minute  spade, 
when  Israel  turned  to  a  substantial  though 
rude  table  on  which  lay  a  score  or  so  of 
books, 

''  I  am  ashamed  to  speak  of  anything  so 
pitiful,"  said  he,  ''  but  such  as  it  is,  my 
little  library  is  at  your  service.  I  have 
bought  only  such  books  as  I  could  not 
borrow  from  Mr.  Dewback,  our  parson, 
who  is  a  college  graduate  and  who  fitted 
me  for  college." 

Now  my  admiration  of  this  youth  for 
his  beauty  and  strength  had  been  at  least 
doubled,  it  must  be  confessed,  through 
the  discovery  that  his  great-grandfather 
had  worn  linen  and  an  embroidered  coat. 
The  additional  credit  which  was  con- 
ferred by  this  subsequent  discovery,  that 
he  possessed  the  elements  of  a  solid  educa- 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  2j 

tion,  was  much  less  considerable.  There- 
fore, in  expressing  my  thanks  for  the  po- 
lite offer,  I  turned  over  the  leaves  of  one 
or  two  volumes  with  only  an  assumed 
interest,  and  soon  resumed  my  scrutiny 
of  the  portrait. 

''Your  ancestor  had  less  breadth  of  fore- 
head," I  commented,  *'  his  upper  lip  is 
slightly  longer  and  his  chin  less  strong 
and  firm" ;  but,  reflecting  that  my  com- 
parisons might  seem  too  familiar,  instead 
of  continuing,  I  asked  Israel  about  this 
ancestor. 

''Sit  down,  then,"  he  suggested,  "for  it 
is  quite  a  long  story  ;  or,  better,  stretch 
yourself  out  on  the  bed,  Mr.  Penman." 

I  complied,  and  lying  across  the  foot  of 
the  bed  and  looking  up  at  the  portrait — 
glancing  now  at  it  and  again  at  the  narra- 
tor— heard  the  following  account. 


I 


THE  ANCESTOR 

HIS  portrait  which  has  excited 
your  interest,"  began  Israel,  ''  I 
found  five  years  ago  in  the  gar- 
ret, in  a  corner,  just  above  my 
head  as  I  stand  now.  The  fall  before  I 
had  strung  across  some  ears  of  sweet-corn 
to  dry  for  seed.  When  planting  time 
came,  I  went  up  to  fetch  that  and  some 
other  little  things  stowed  away  in  the 
same  place.  They  were  too  many  for  me 
to  carry  in  my  hands,  so  I  picked  up  this 
picture  out  of  a  heap  of  rubbish,  not  notic- 
ing or  caring  what  it  was,  to  put  the  seeds 
on.  So  I  carried  them  down  and  out  into 
the  long  field." 

Here  Israel  paused  ;  then  walking  up 
and  down  the  room  and  stopping  each 
time  he  passed  the  bed  to  see  how  I  was 
taking  what  he  said,  he  continued  : 

"  It  was  a  bright,  warm  spring  day  and 
I  was  fifteen ;  so  there  were  a  good  many 
thoughts  in  my  head  besides  about  plant- 
ing corn.     But  I  need  not  remind  you,  sir, 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  2 J 

that  a  boy  of  fifteen  thinks  all  sorts  of 
things  on  a  bright,  warm  spring  morning. 
He  is  just  beginning  to  realize  how  much 
larger  the  world  is  than  his  own  home, 
how  many  opinions  there  are  different 
from  those  in  which  he  has  been  brought 
up,  and  more  than  all  he  is  just  beginning 
to  feel  a  restlessness  which  he  can't  explain 
even  to  himself :  strange  desires  for  free- 
dom, for  knowledge,  for  pleasures,  for 
possessions,  and  stranger,  more  torment- 
ing desires  which  he  cannot  understand 
because  they  are  entirely  unlike  those  he 
has  felt  before." 

"  In  a  word,  the  boy  of  fifteen  doesn't 
understand  himself  and  is  most  curious 
about  himself,"  I  ventured. 

''  Exactly  that.  So  then,  you  know  what 
sort  of  questions  I  was  asking  myself  and 
you  can  understand  my  interest  when  I 
had  removed  enough  of  the  corn  to  see 
myself." 

''  How  is  that?"  I  asked,  rather  sleepily. 
"  Removed  the  corn  to  see  yourself?" 

''  When  I  had  uncovered  the  picture, 
that  is.  I  saw  before  me  my  own  face, 
line  for  line  ;  only  the  lines  were  deeper, 
stronger,  and  the  face  was  my  own  face 
matured.      I  saw  myself   matured.     That 


26      GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

was  an  answer  to  ni}^  questions  because  it 
was  a  prophecy  of  my  future." 

"  Your  questions  answered  ?  That  is 
better  luck  than  most  of  us  ever  have. 
You  understood  yourself  after  that  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  very  positively. 
''  But  I  beg  your  pardon  for  the  reference 
to  my  own  feelings.  I  need  to  explain 
why  this  portrait  seemed  to  me  from  the 
first  so  valuable, — why  I  did  not  throw  it 
aside  as  others  had  done  and  stick  to  the 
occupation  of  planting  corn. 

''  It  is  the  only  object  Ave  have  left  in  the 
family  to  connect  us  with  the  past,  and  the 
wonder  is  that  its  frame  had  not  been  split 
up  for  kindlings  long  before." 

I  shuddered  at  the  mere  suggestion  of 
such  violence  being  offered  to  a  sacred 
relic.  A  horse-shoe  which  my  own  great- 
grandfather had  forged,  had  been  gilded 
and  was  prominently  displa3"ed  in  the 
Penman  drawing-room  in  Oldhaven. 

"  I  took  it,"  Israel  continued,  ''  to  parson 
Dewback,  who  is  a  mild,  timid  little  man, 
and  in  some  respects  is  certainly  a  fool. 
But  he  is,  after  all,  very  well-read  and  a 
good  deal  of  an  antiquarian.  He  was  de- 
lighted beyond  measure,  of  course,  and 
promised  to  find  out  all  about  the  painting 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  2y 

and  its  original  if  I  would  leave  the  old 
thing  with  him  for  a  month.  This  I  con- 
sented to  most  unwillingly,  for  I  could  not 
bear  to  let  the  prophetic  mirror  in  which 
I  seemed  to  see  my  own  future  go  out  of 
my  possession  even  for  so  short  a  time. 

"  One  month  later,  at  the  very  hour,  I 
presented  myself  before  parson  Dewback 
and  demanded  my  treasure  together  with 
the  promised  history  of  my  ancestor. 

"  '  Dear  me  !  Well,  well !'  the  old  gen- 
tlemen exclaimed  in  confusion  ;  and  I 
feared  he  had  forgotten  his  engagement. 
But  no :  he  went  to  his  desk  and  fumbled 
among  a  heap  of  papers,  as  ill-assorted  and 
disorderly  as  his  own  thoughts  on  immor- 
tality. '  Well,  well,  well !  Now  where 
can  it  be  ?  Dear,  dear,  dear !  I  do  not 
find  it,  my  dear  young  friend.  Perhaps  it 
is  just  as  well.' 

''  'Oh,  no,  sir,  please  don't  give  it  up. 
Is  this  it  ?'  I  asked,  putting  my  hand  on 
what  he  had  been  writing  when  I  entered. 

"  '  To  be  sure  !  I  had  only  just  begun  to 
write  it  down  ;  but '  (with  a  bland  smile) 
'  I  will  tell  the  story  to  you.  I  will  tell  to 
you  the  story  of  your — let  me  see,  your 
great-grandfather,  who  bore  the  extraor- 
dinary  name    of    Israel-for-Israel    Slyme. 


28      GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

Sit  down,  my  dear  young  friend,  sit  down 
and  listen.' 

*'  There  was  not  another  chair  in  the 
room  ;  but  I  stood  and  listened  none  the 
worse  for  that. 

"  The  old  parson's  story  was  full  of 
windings  and  indirections.  He  began 
with  the  statement  that  the  name  '  Israel- 
for-Israel '  did  not  signify  that  my  ances- 
tor was  a  selfish  man,  seeking  his  own 
interest  at  whatever  cost  to  others.  A 
deeper  and  scriptural  interpretation  was 
to  be  preferred,  he  said — this,  namely  : 
*  Israel-forTsrael '  is  as  much  as  to  say, 
The  Lord's  people  are  sufficient  unto 
themselves,  and  should  not  covet  the  pos- 
sessions neither  take  on  the  manners  and 
customs  of  the  children  of  this  world. 

''  Oh  !  oh  !"  I  deprecated,  sitting  bolt 
upright. 

Israel  laughed  so  heartily  that  I  felt  the 
bed  vibrate  and  exclaimed  : 

"  You  do  not  approve  parson  Dewback's 
interpretation  of  '  Israel-for-Israel.'  Well, 
I  shall  never  say  you  are  wrong. 

"  It  seems  probable  that  at  the  opening 
of  the  Revolutionary  War,  Israel-for-Israel 
Slyme  was  an  adventurer,  not  attached  to 
the  American  cause  by  any   sentiment  of 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  2g 

patriotism,  for  he  apparently  held  no  prop- 
erty in  any  one  of  the  States.  Moreover 
his  conduct  and  traits  of  character  of 
which  we  have  certain  knowledge  accord 
with  this  supposition. 

"  He  was  neither  religious  nor  indus- 
trious ;  so,  in  spite  of  his  puritan  name,  he 
was  not  a  Puritan  at  heart.  Quite  the 
contrary,  in  fact.  He  was  a  dandy  in 
dress,  he  w^as  imperious  and  haughty  in 
manner. 

"  One  of  the  traditions  which  parson 
Dewback  unearthed  is  therefore  possibly 
not  without  foundation.  It  is  to  the  fol- 
lowing effect : 

"  My  ancestor  was  the  second  son  of  an 
English  bishop.  He  had  led  a  wild  life  at 
the  University  of  Oxford,  and  so  thorough- 
ly disgraced  himself  afterwards  that  with 
the  full  permission  of  his  respectable 
parent  he  fled»  the  country  and  changed 
his  name. 

"  Think  of  his  coolly  deciding,  after  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  seek  his  fortune 
in  the  rebellious  colonies,  to  assume  a 
name  suited  to  his  new  surroundings.  The 
son  of  an  English  bishop  expressed  the 
opinion  of  the  class  he  was  quitting — their 
opinion  of  dissenters  generally,  and  most 

14 


JO       GRAY:   AN   OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

of  all  the  American  dissenters,  with  whom 
he  was  to  identify  himself — in  the  name  of 
Slyme.  That  must  have  been  his  first 
thought. 

"  Then  for  a  praenomen  he  chose  what 
expressed  to  himself  yet  concealed  from 
others  his  real  intention  in  taking  sides 
with  the  colonists  against  those  principles 
which  he  had  revered,  if  indeed  he  ever 
genuinely  revered  anything — against  alle- 
giance to  Church  and  King.  '  Israel-for- 
Israel '  meant  to  him,  '  Myself  for  myself, 
and  the  devil  take  these  whining  fanatics 
after  I  get  through  using  them  for  my 
own  purpose.'  " 

''  My  dear  sir,"  I  interposed,  now  stand- 
ing and  quite  forgetful  of  my  fatigue. 
"  My  dear  sir !  This  about  your  own 
great-grandfather !" 

''  I  mean,"  said  Israel,  '*  that  he  was  an 
adventurer  like  many  others  Avhose  selfish 
ambition  was  very  serviceable  to  the  just 
and  righteous  cause  of  independence.  That 
is  all  I  mean." 

Perhaps  Israel  knew  that  the  moral 
character  of  his  remote  ancestor  made  no 
difference  to  me, — who  am,  nevertheless, 
personally  an  honest  and  honorable  man,  I 
hope,  and  who  love  honesty  and  honor  in 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  J I 

my  contemporaries.     To  how  many  of  us 
would   it   have    made   a   difference  ?      Of 
those  who  sincerely  revere  the  memory  of 
Oliver  Cromwell  and  in  argument  re-con- 
demn Charles  Stuart  to  death  as  a  just 
punishment    visited    upon   a   tyrant,    how 
many  would  prefer  to  derive  their  descent 
from  the   Protector  rather  than  from  the 
first  Charles,  King  of  England  ?     Our  sen- 
timent  of    aristocracy   is   in    this   plainly 
distinct  from  our  sense  of  morality.     The 
man  of   the   world  says   to    himself,   The 
world  may  be  moved  by  either  sentiment 
—either  superiority  or  goodness:   I  take 
my  choice. 

Israel  continued  :  "  When,  after  Gates's 
terrible  defeat  at  Camden,  Greene  was 
appointed  to  the  command  of  our  forces 
in  the  South,  my  ancestor  served  under 
him. 

"This  appointment  of  General  Greene 
seems  to  me  to  have  been  the  turning 
point  in  the  war.  From  the  moment 
when  those  scattered  forces,  which  with- 
out a  common  plan  of  action  had  never- 
theless held  their  .own  against  the  British, 
were  placed  in  the  hands  of  one  resolute 
soldier,  as  Greene  certainly  was,  the  issue 
could  no  longer  be  doubtful.     That  Israel- 


32       GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

for-Israel  realized  this  fully  at  the  time,  I 
do  not  assert.  I  simply  mention  the  cir- 
cumstance that  he  cast  in  his  lot  with  the 
Americans  at  this  juncture. 

"  In  the  memorable  retreat  through  the 
Carolinas,  he  bore  a  part.  In  the  battle 
of  Guilford,  15th  March,  1781,  he  charged 
with  Washington's  cavalry  ;  and  an  inci- 
dent of  that  charge  brings  him  forward  in 
a  creditable  manner. 

"  The  brunt  of  this  engagement  was 
borne,  on  the  American  side,  by  a  regi- 
ment of  Marylanders.  It  was  to  support 
this  regiment  that  the  charge  was  com- 
manded. 

''  The  detachment  of  the  British,  thus 
assailed,  wavered  ;  but  Stuart,  who  lead 
them,  succeeded  in  rallying  his  men  and 
himself  sprang  upon  Captain  Smith  of  the 
Marylanders.  '  The  latter,  parrying  Stu- 
art's small-sword  with  his  left  hand, 
brought  down  his  heavy  sabre  or  his  head 
with  such  force  that  he  cleaved  him  to  the 
spine.  The  next  moment,  wounded  by  a 
musket-ball,  he  fell  upon  his  antagonist. 
Scarcely  had  he  touched  the  body  when 
the  soldier  who  had  fired  the  shot  also 
fell  across  him,'  struck  down  by  the  sabre 
of  Israel-for-Israel,  who  spurred  all  alone 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  33 

among  the  guards.  In  an  instant  the  rest 
of  the  cavalry  followed  and  the  battle 
would  have  been  won,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  artillery  of  Cornwallis,  which  now 
opened  upon  friend  and  foe  alike. 

''  The  field  remained  with  the  British 
commander,  and  it  was  supposed  that  the 
young  cavalryman  who  had  come  to  the 
front  at  a  critical  moment  had  fallen  in  the 
subsequent  indiscriminate  slaughter,  for 
he  did  not  rejoin  his  company. 

"  But  what  seemed  for  the  moment  to 
be  a  British  victory,  turned  out  to  be  in 
effect  defeat.  Cornwallis  had  lost  one- 
fourth  of  his  army  and  began  a  precipitate 
retreat. 

*'  Cornw^allis  retreating  into  South  Caro- 
lina, Greene  followed  him. 

"After  suffering  another  defeat  at  the 
hands  of  Rawdon,  Greene  joined  General 
Marion,  who  had  been  pressing  the  siege 
of  Fort  Motte.  Here  Israel-for-Israel, 
who  had  joined  Marion's  command  shortly 
before,  reappeared. 

"  Fort  Motte  fell.  Israel-for-Israel  again 
served  in  Greene's  command,  was  present 
at  the  storming  of  Ninety-Six,  at  the  dis- 
graceful battle  of  Eutaw  Springs  and  the 
capture  of  Charleston,  where  he  took  the 


34       GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

fever  and  retired  to  the  bracing  air  of 
New  England  to  regain  his  health. 

''  The  convalescent  had  been  faithfully 
nursed  by  a  certain  Prudence  Johnson, — 
my  great-grandmother.  He  married  her 
and  through  her  secured  this  sterile  farm 
at  Oskawask. 

"  During  a  relapse,  Prudence  Johnson 
heard  the  sick  man  raving  about  hidden 
treasures  and  Indians  and  a  guardian  of 
the  hoard  —  never  once  about  the  war 
scenes  in  Avhich  he  had  been  an  actor. 
After  his  recovery  he  still  brooded,  and  in 
answer  to  his  wife's  repeated  inquiries 
finally  told  her  that  when  the  battle  of 
Guilford  turned  unfavorably  to  the  Amer- 
icans, he  formed  a  sudden  resolution  to 
join  the  band  of  partisans  who  supported 
the  invincible  Marion. 

''  The  last  reports  received  from  Marion 
indicated  that  he  was  about  to  raid  in  the 
vicinity  of  Augusta.  Taking  this  as  his 
objective  point,  my  ancestor  from  the 
very  field  of  battle,  alone  and  without  a 
guide  and  with  little  knowledge  of  the 
country,  struck  off  to  the  westward. 

"  Becoming  involved  in  the  spurs  of  the 
Blue  Ridge  mountains,  he  lost  himself 
completely  in  their  defiles. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  35 

''  Judging  that  it  would  be  hopeless  to 
seek  for  a  pass  and  fatal  to  abandon  the 
direct  south-westerly  course  which  he  had 
hitherto  followed,  he  sacrificed  his  horse 
and  on  foot  undertook  to  climb  the  moun- 
tains which  rose  before  him. 

"  After  a  week  of  incredible  hardship  he 
reached  the  southern  boundary  of  this 
rocky  wall.  There  a  landscape  of  perfect 
beauty  was  unfolded  before  him. 

"  I  ought  to  have  said  that  his  greatest 
inconvenience  w^as  due  to  the  fear  of  hos- 
tile Indians,  into  whose  hands  he  barely 
escaped  falling  time  and  again.  This 
being  the  favorite  hunting-ground  of  the 
red  men,  it  seems  miraculous  that  he 
could  have  passed  through  it  unharmed. 
Strangely  enough,  this  last  southern  emi- 
nence was  entirely  free  from  the  red  tor- 
mentors.   There  was  no  game  there,  either. 

''  Amazed  by  this  circumstance,  he  as- 
cended the  highest  point  of  the  mountain 
and  looked  about  him. 

"  The  mountain  stood  alone,  separated 
by  a  narrow  valley  from  the  general 
range,  which  here  trends  north-east  and 
south-west.  For  five  miles  on  either  hand, 
like  a  great  wall,  it  stretched  away  with 
an  almost  even  elevation. 


J<5      GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  A  mountain  ten  or  twelve  miles  long, 
three  or  four  miles  in  width :  he  the  only 
human  being  there. 

"The  point  where  he  stood  dominated 
the  whole  mountain,  even  as  the  mountain 
itself,  standing  alone  and  as  it  were  in 
advance  of  the  great  army  of  peaks  to 
the  northward,  seemed  to  dominate  them 
all. 

"  Enjoying  the  security  of  this  point  and 
impressed  by  the  mystery  of  the  great 
silence,  my  ancestor  rested  here  and 
strengthened  himself  for  the  journey  still 
before  him.  Evidently  the  most  difficult 
portion  of  his  journey  was  past ;  for  far 
as  the  eye  could  see  to  the  southward, 
there  stretched  out  a  great  plain,  across 
which  he  could  make  his  way  with  com- 
parative ease. 

''  In  the  mystery  of  this  great  silence  he 
passed  the  night.  Stretched  upon  the 
bare  rock  he  heard,  or  fancied  he  heard, 
as  the  night  fell  and  the  sounds  of  the 
woods  ceased  with  the  breeze  which  had 
blown  warm  from  the  southern  plain, — in 
that  more  perfect  stillness,  with  his  face 
pressed  against  the  rock,  he  seemed  to 
hear  in  it,  within  it,  beneath  it,  a  faint 
groaning  and  sighing,  as  though  from  a 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  J/ 

spirit  imprisoned  within  the  heart  of  the 
mountain. 

"  By  the  first  light  of  the  following- 
morning  he  descended  the  mountain  and 
came  upon  a  torrent  which,  issuing  from  a 
cavern  only  a  thousand  feet  or  so  below 
the  summit,  fell  in  a  slender  column  of 
spray  so  far  down  in  sheer  descent  that 
the  noise  of  its  fall  scarcely  ascended  to 
its  source.  There  even  the  voice  of  the 
waters  was  hushed  in  the  universal  si- 
lence." 

"  Is  this  a  fairy-tale,  my  dear  sir?"  I  ex- 
claimed. "  There  is  no  sufficient  explana- 
tion, following  your  description,  at  least, 
of  a  considerable  supply  of  water  at  so 
great  an  altitude." 

''  I  don't  answer  for  a  word  of  the 
whole  legend,"  Israel  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  My  authority  is  parson  Dewback,  and 
I  am  using  his  own  words,  pretty  nearly." 

*'  Go  on,  go  on,"  I  said  ;  "  I  accept  it, 
then,  as  you  tell  it." 

Israel  continued  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  room  with  a  certain  leonine  impa- 
tience. As  he  passed  before  me,  he  looked 
at  me  with  a  peculiar  expression,  half 
searching,  half  mocking,  and  proceeded  : 

'•  The  first  thing  that  struck  my  ances- 


38      GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

tor  was  that  this  stream  must  be  the  issue 
of  an  underground  current  which  had 
groaned  and  sighed  to  him  through  the 
rock  above. 

"  The  next  thing  was,  that   the    cavern 
was    much    higher   and    broader   than   so 
small  a  stream    required   for   its  passage,- 
and  that  he  might  as  well  ascertain  how 
far  it  extended. 

"  He  went  in  and  up  until  he  made  sure 
that  it  was  growing  larger  instead  of  con- 
tracting  I    say,    think    of    looking 

from  this  dark  cave,  from  its  utter  dark- 
ness, where  the  splashing  and  roaring  wa- 
ters sounded  like  the  voices  of  a  thousand 
devils  after  the  stillness  outside, — looking 
through  a  circular  opening  below  one, 
seeing  through  this  opening,  thousands  of 
feet  below,  the  giant  pines  of  the  plain,  in 
size  like  blades  of  grass,  standing  on  their 
tops  or  seeming  rather  to  be  suspended 
from  a  solid  heaven !  There  is  nothing 
about  that  in  the  story,  but  it  occurs  to 
me. 

''  Well,  he  noticed  that  the  floor  of  the 
cavern  spread  out  to  a  considerable  size, 
that  it  was  fairly  even  and  covered  with 
gravel  and  small  stones. 

''  Having  no  light,  he  contented  himself 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  JQ 

with  this  for  the  time,  filled  his  pockets 
with  loose  bits  from  the  floor  and  retraced 
his  steps. 

"■  Arrived  at  the  entrance,  he  emptied 
his  pockets.     They  contained " 

Israel  paused  an  instant  before  me,  look- 
ing down  at  me  with  a  smile. 

"  They  contained  fragments  of  rich  gold- 
ore  and  the  head  of  a  stone  implement, 
like  a  rude  hammer-head.     That  is  all. 

"  When  he  thought  to  go  back  into  the 
cavern,  he  saw,  seated  within  in  the 
shadow  of  the  entrance,  a  gigantic  figure, 
apparently  sleeping  with  head  bowed  up- 
on his  knees.  He  might  have  passed  this 
sleeping  guardian  without  perceiving  him, 
for  the  motionless  gray  figure  was  like  a 
great  fragment  of  granite.  He  might 
have  stolen  in  a  second  time  without  be- 
ing perceived  ;  but  he  did  not  attempt  it. 
He  said  :  '  That  thing  was  not  there  when 
I  went  in  or  when  I  came  out  ;'  and  he 
confessed  to  his  wife.  Prudence,  that  he 
was  greatly  terrified,  because  he  had  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  alone  upon  the  moun- 
tain. 

"■  That  is  about  all  of  the  story  as  par- 
son Dewback  unearthed  it. 

"  My   great-grandfather    served    under 


40      GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Marion  and  Greene  until  the  termination 
of  the  war  in  the  South,  as  already  re- 
lated ;  but  that  he  understood  the  art  of 
peace  as  well  as  war  is  shown  in  this,  that 
he  yielded  to  the  curiosity  of  the  wife  of 
his  bosom,  my  great-grandmother.  This 
complaisance  can,  however,  hardly  be  re- 
garded as  a  mark  of  attachment ;  for  he 
soon  left  her.  He  never  ceased,  so  the 
legend  runs,  after  the  subject  had  been 
once  broached,,  to  refer  to  this  treasure  in 
the  Carolinas.  He  was  discontented  at 
home,  and  it  was  possibly  a  relief  to  my 
great-grandmother  when,  after  a  few  years, 
he  went  away.  He  was  never  heard  of 
afterwards. 

''That  is  the  end  of  Israel-for-Israel 
Slyme.  All  that  is  left  of  him  you  have 
seen,  Mr.  Penman  :  his  descendants,  who 
have  forgotten  him  and  his  portrait,  res- 
cued from  the  garret." 

The  story  had  been  told  half  earnestly, 
half  flippantly.  1  knew  that  Israel  must 
be  genuinel}^  interested,  from  the  import- 
ance which  he  attached  to  the  portrait; 
but  he  made  no  apparent  effort  to  interest. 
He  seemed  to  be  telling  the  story  with  a 
view  to  finding  out  how  it  would  impress 
the  listener. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  41 

The  result  was  that  this  absence  of 
effort  made  the  narrative  all  the  more  im- 
pressive. I  was  affected  in  a  manner 
which  will  be  described  in  the  next  chap- 
ter. 


THE   STORM 

HEN  Israel  bade  me  good-night 
and  descended  to  his  place  by 
the  fire,  I  was  not  by  any  means 
in  the  mood  for  sleep. 
The  storm,  which  had  been  holding 
some  of  its  forces  in  reserve  for  a  final, 
decisive  attack,  now  advanced  with  a 
mighty  purpose  to  establish  King  Win- 
ter in  the  bleak  New  England  territory 
and  drive  out  or  imprison  every  remain- 
ing adherent  of  Summer.  On  it  came 
with  a  resistless  charge,  while  the  tall 
trees  bent  before  it,  the  free  waters  shiv- 
ered beneath  it  and  the  submissive  earth 
shrivelled  and  chapped  and  hardened  in 
roughness. 

Every  form  of  life  which  the  kindlier 
season  calls  into  being  submitted.  Only 
man,  who  constructs  and  maintains  about 
himself  a  feeble  imitation  of  the  kindly 
season,  opposed  i^esistance  to  the  invader. 
So  then  the  great  wind  fell  upon  the 
dwellings  of  men,   tugged   away  at  their 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  43 

eaves  to  unroof  them,  battered  against 
their  sides  to  level  them  with  the  ground, 
and,  with  cunning  not  inferior  to  its 
strength,  insinuated  itself  between  the 
window-sashes,  crept  in  through  every 
crevice,  to  steal  away  the  very  spirit  of 
resistance  from  the  garrison  within,  while 
the  ice-crowned  emperor  of  half  the  world 
from  without  commanded,  Surrender ! 

At  least  once  a  year,  even  the  staunch- 
est  son  of  New  England  is  tempted  to 
yield.  Why  not  surrender  to  this  bitter, 
tireless  antagonist,  and,  withdrawing  to 
the  generous  southern  country,  live  at 
peace  with  the  climate — not,  as  here,  bare- 
ly exist  in  spite  of  the  climate  ? 

Traitorous  thought !  When  once  this 
suggestion  has  spoken  distinctly  within 
the  breast,  our  defenses  are  down.  How 
the  icy  wind  then  bites  and  rasps  and 
embitters  !  How  we  hate  everything  and 
everybody  ;  and  especially,  how  the  trem- 
bling and  creaking  and  groaning  of  an  old 
house,  beset  by  the  first  terrible  storm  of 
winter,  is  to  us  the  language  of  our  own 
mutinous  spirit. 

S-s-vish  ! — bang  !  commanded  the  w4nd, 
laying  hold  on  both  gables  at  once  and 
tugging  away. 


44       GRA  Y:  AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

Oo-00-woe  !  roared  the  old  house  through 
its  chimney. 

''  Br-r-r-r,"  I  chattered  beneath  several 
blankets.  ''  I  wonder  if  that  questionable 
ancient  Slyme,  whom  the  yellow  fever 
sent  from  the  Carolinas  to  New  England, 
and  the  gold-fever  took  away  from  New 
England  to  the  Carolinas,  ever  slept  in 
this  house.  It  looks  old  enough.  It  can 
never  outlast  this  generation,  if  indeed  it 
withstands  this  storm.  One  comfort  is, 
it's  too  late  in  the  year  for  a  cyclone  or  a 
tornado." 

Ziz-z-z-z — rei !  shrieked  the  storm  wind, 
tearing  a  shutter  from  its  fastenings  and 
with  it  belaboring  the  wall  near  my  head ; 
then  wrenching  it  entirely  free  and  whirl- 
ing it  away  like  a  leaf. 

At  the  same  instant  there  was  a  dull 
rumbling  sound  of  bricks  falling  within 
the  chimney. 

This  was  too  much  for  me.  I  went 
across  the  bare  floor  to  the  mantel-piece 
and  lighted  the  tallow-dip  ;  then  took  a 
long  pull  at  a  pocket  flask,  containing 
spirits  of  matured  virtue,  and  speedily 
tumbled  back  into  bed. 

The  candle  illuminated  with  a  flickering 
light  the  portrait  of  Israel-for-Israel. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  4$ 

I  was  stouter-hearted  now,  owing  to  the 
warmth  which  radiated,  as  it  were,  from 
the  stomach. 

"  I  have  never  met  a  more  interesting 
person  than  this  young  fellow,"  I  reflected. 
"  Such  courtesy,  such  superiority,  such 
open-heartedness,  such  a  pair  of  shoulders 
— all  these  united  in  one  person  and  that 
one  person  a  country  lad  on  a  puckertown 
farm  !     It  is  as  incredible  as  a  newspaper. 

''  What  impresses  me  most  is  his  open- 
heartedness.  He  speaks  to  me,  an  entire 
stranger,  with  a  freedom  I  could  not  use 
until  I  had  known  a  person  intimately  for 
years.  I  suppose  he  does  not  know  fear 
in  any  of  its  forms.  He  barely  glances  at 
me  once  and  then  welcomes  me,  gives  up 
his  own  room  to  me,  with  the  air  of  an 
hospitable  lord. 

'*  I  express  a  little  interest  in  a  picture : 
that  is  enough  for  him.  He  tells  me  the 
whole  story  to  the  end  with  artistic  sim- 
plicity. 

"■  But  this  complaisance  is  so  far  re- 
moved from  servility  that  somehow  every 
service  he  renders  increases  my  respect 
for  him. 

"  His  open  countenance  discloses  his 
inmost  thought." 

16 


46      GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Here  I  looked  up  at  the  portrait  to  con- 
firm my  judgment. 

Strange !  There  was  no  such  genial 
'look  in  the  face  before  me.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  resemblance  of  this  old  portrait 
to  the  young  man  had  disappeared.  The 
face  upon  the  wall  had  lengthened,  chang- 
ing the  whole  expression  and  even  the 
shape  of  the  features.  There  were  still 
the  dark,  crisp  hair  and  vivacious  eyes, 
but  the  forehead  stood  out  prominently 
and  was  scarred  by  a  deep,  perpendicular 
line.  The  eyes  had  retired  cavernously 
and  the  light  in  them  was  not  dancing, 
but  a  steady  gleam.  The  nose  was  thinner 
and  slightly  aquiline.  The  lips  wore  a  sin- 
ister, cruel  expression. 

"  The  lips !"  I  exclaimed.  "  I  must 
have  been  dreaming  !  This  ancient  Slyme 
wears  heavy  mustaches  hiding  his  mouth 
and  a  beard  which  covers  the  mark  on  his 
cheek.  I  don't  wonder  he  wants  to  hide 
such  an  evil  expression  and  such  an  awful 
mark:  a  blood-red  spade,  that  seems  a 
sore  ready  to  burst.  See  !  It  throbs  like 
a  pulse,  showing  that   it   reaches   to   the 

heart Fudge  and  nonsense  !     I  am, 

with  due  respect  to  myself,  either  a  fool 
or  an  idiot.     The  old  fellow  hasn't  a  bit 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  4^ 

more  beard  than  the  back  of  my  hand.  It 
is  a  young,  smooth,  extremely  handsome 
face  —  the  face  of  a  fine  gentleman.  I 
might  as  well  put  out  the  light  and  go  to 
sleep  ;  much  better  than  making  a  fool  of 
myself  over  this  preposterous  Winter's 
Tale." 

The  wind  was  wrestling  with  a  second 
window-blind  as  I,  in  consequence  of  this 
resolution,  slipped  out  of  bed  and  was 
about  to  extinguish  the  candle. 

''  Good  night,"  said  I,  holding  the  light 
before  the  dark  canvass  and  scrutinizing 
the  features  more  closely  than  ever  be- 
fore. 

There  it  was,  starting  out  from  the  dark- 
ness,—  the  youthful,  strong,  aristocratic 
face,  with  a  minute  mark  upon  the  right 
cheek. 

"  Good  night,  ancient  vagabond !"  I 
said. 

Either  a  disdainful  expression  passed 
over  the  face  and  curled  the  lips  of  Israel- 
for-Israel,  or  my  flickering  candle  was  at 
fault.  It  can  never  be  known  which  ;  for 
when  I  attempted  to  discover  the  source 
and  origin  of  such  suggestions  by  a  still 
more  searching  examination, — this  time 
without  all  nonsense, — 


4S      GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Bang,  bang!  the  shutter  thrashed  against 
the  clapboards. 

Ou-oo-oiif !  groaned  the  chimney. 

And  one  sharp-shooting  blast  sped  right 
to  the  mark  ;  so  that  while  the  general 
volley  discharged  by  the  storm  passed  by 
harmlessly,  this  particular  gust  put  out 
my  light  and  made  the  frame  just  before 
my  face  rattle  against  the  wall  with  the 
hollow  sound  of  old  dead  things.  It 
passed  beneath  my  one  garment  and  ran 
like  a  cold  hand  over  my  body. 

I  shivered,  whether  with  cold  or  fear, 
threw  my  top-coat  over  my  shoulders, 
made  a  vain  effort  to  pull  the  right  boot 
on  the  left  foot  and,  failing  in  that,  crept 
in  my  stocking-feet  down  the  stairs. 

Reaching  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  I 
noticed  that  a  flood  of  light  poured 
through  a  wide  crack  in  the  warped  door 
out  into  the  passage.  Here  I  hesitated  for 
an  instant. 

Some  random  idea  entering  my  head,  or 
perhaps  only  my  habitual  caution  prompt- 
ing me  thereto,  I  did  not  either  open  the 
door  or  knock  at  it  without  first  recon- 
noitering  by  means  of  this  aperture,  which 
rendered  a  portion  of  the  interior  visible — 
that  is,  by  bending  or  stooping  somewhat. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  49 

In  this  way  I  informed  myself  as  to  the 
condition  of  things  within. 

Several  fresh  logs  had  been  added  to 
the  fire  and  the  flame  was  devouring  these 
in  the  fierce  draft  with  its  eager  tongue. 

Seated  before  this  and  looking  fixedly 
into  it  sat  Israel  upon  the  floor — or  rather 
on  a  spread  of  some  kind  laid  down  upon 
the  floor. 

He  was  fairly  transfigured  in  this  great 
light,  which  made  a  glory  around  about 
him. 

Lying  with  her  head  pillowed  upon  his 
knees,  her  face  upturned  towards  his,  her 
almost  girlish  figure  stretched  out  so  that 
the  warmth  poured  over  and  covered  her, 
slept  Lilly. 

She  was  motionless  in  the  deep  sleep  of 
perfect  contentment. 

While  I,  spell-bound  by  the  vision  of 
beautiful  creatures — beautiful  as  gods  in 
this  perfect  naturalness — still  bent  over 
and  devoured  with  my  eyes  now  his  per- 
fection, now  hers,  Israel  turned  his  head 
and  looked  down  into  the  face  of  his  com- 
panion. 

Was  it  possible?  That  very  expression 
of  disdain  which  I  had  fancied  that  I  had 
caught  upon  the  face  of  the  portrait !     To 


so       GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

see  it  upon  the  face  of  a  lover  whose  mis- 
tress was  sleeping  within  his  embrace  ! 

An  exclamation  escaped  me.  It  was 
only  half  uttered,  half  suppressed  ;  yet 
like  a  flash  the  eyes  of  Israel  were  fastened 
upon  the  door.  1  thought  that  such  a 
glance  must  discover  me  in  my  conceal- 
ment. It  seemed  to  pierce  the  very  boards 
of  the  partition. 

But  as  a  flash,  so  this  glance  ended,  fell 
upon  the  happy,  upturned  face  of  the 
sleeper,  then  changed  into  a  smile.  He 
muttered  something — perhaps,  '  It  was 
only  the  wind ' ;  at  least  he  looked  again 
into  the  fire  and  the  glory  of  the  fire  was 
again  about  his  head  and  Lilly's  form. 

I  stole  noiselessly  away. 

Through  half  that  night  the  storm  raged 
until  the  whole  land  submitted  to  fierce 
King  Winter.  Within  the  old  house, 
which  held  its  own  against  the  invader, 
save  for  the  loss  of  several  shutters  and  of 
a  brick  or  two  from  the  chimney-top,  some 
of  us  rested  sluggishly,  one  tossed  about, 
getting  little  rest,  one  saw  his  own 
thoughts  glowing  in  the  wood  coals,  one 
tender  little  lady  slept  in  the  security  and 
perfect  peace  of  love. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  5 1 

Before  dawn  all  was  still,  both  within 
and  without  the  old  walls.  The  sun  rose 
in  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  morning  smiled 
— coldly,  it  is  true,  but  yet  it  smiled. 

It  smiled  upon  me  through  the  curtain- 
less  and  shutterless  window  while  I  was 
making  a  hasty  toilet.  It  lighted  up  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  stairway  and  pas- 
sage, which  had  seemed  so  mysterious  the 
night  before  ;  and  as  I  descended  I  thought 
how  pitiful  and  plain  and  commonplace 
every  object  there  Avas,  after  all. 

Mrs.  Slyme  and  her  two  daughters  were 
bustling  about  in  the  kitchen. 

"And  where  is  Israel?"  I  asked,  after 
the  greetings  had  been  interchanged. 

"  Israel  is  gone  with  Lilly  to  'tend  her 
home,"  said  the  mother. 

'■'■  Yes,  he  does  everything  for  her, 
doesn't  he  sister?"  said  Grace.  "And 
father's  down  at  the  falls." 

"  Yes,  father  loves  to  go  to  the  falls 
whenever  he  can,  doesn't  he,  sister?"  said 
Gertrude. 

"  Is  it  far  to  the  falls  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  just  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden." 

"  Just  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,"  chimed  in 
Grace. 


S2       GRA  Y;  AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

"  Would  it  be  asking  too  much  of  you 
to  show  me  the  way?"  I  asked,  addressing 
myself  to  the  last  speaker. 

Grace  looked  at  Gertrude  and  Gertrude 
looked  at  Grace.  They  were  not  to  be 
separated. 

''  Perhaps  you  will  both  honor  me " 

I  began. 

"Run  along,  girls,  and  tell  father  to 
come  in  to  breakfast,''  cried  Mrs.  Slyme. 

The  young  girls  drew  their  shawls  over 
their  heads  and  shoulders  and  started  out, 
their  arms  around  each  other. 

I  confessed  to  myself  that  they  were 
charming.  Together  they  made  one 
charming  person,  with  one  will  and  one 
heart,  but  four  red  cheeks  and  two  pairs 
of  crimson  lips. 

Ah,  but  a  young  girl,  dancing  along  a 
path  across  the  fields  in  the  open  air  of  a 
bright  November  morning,  who  is  not 
pretty  then !  Who  ever  heard  of  such 
a  thing  ?  Especially  after  my  restless, 
lonely  night,  I  will  surely  not  be  blamed 
for  thinking  them  so. 

The  sisters  leading,  we  followed  the 
course  of  the  weedy  stream,  which  itself 
followed  the  windings  of  the  sandy  hill 
until,  suddenly    turning  away   from  this. 


MR,   PENMAN'S    VERSION  S3 

it  made  a  dash  towards  the  south,  with 
a  display  of  spirit  which  surprised  the 
observer  coming  upon  it  from  above. 
Freeing  itself  by  a  single  leap,  it  sped 
along  merrily,  in  active  independence,  as 
far  as  one  could  see  from  this  point. 

At  this  point  stood  Jonathan  Slyme.  It 
was  too  cold  for  him  to  be  whittling ;  but 
with  hands  plunged  into  his  deep  pockets, 
he  was  fumbling  the  wooden  model  that 
we  know,  his  horn-handled  knife,  and 
whatever  else  those  pockets  contained. 

He  was  looking  first  up  and  then  down 
the  stream  as  the  party  of  three  ap- 
proached— an  occupation  which  he  inter- 
mitted for  an  instant  in  order  to  nod  to 
the  stranger,  without,  however,  address- 
ing a  single  word  to  him. 

The  girls  took  possession  of  their  father, 
one  holding  each  arm,  and  led  him  back 
towards  the  house. 

''  That  there  is  the  best  place  and  the 
easiest  to  make  a  mill-dam  in  this  county," 
drawled  the  man,  speaking  to  anybody  or 
nobody,  when  about  to  pass  through  the 
door. 

*  *  ^  -Sf  •?(•  4f 

After  a  substantial  breakfast,  the  entire 


54       GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

family  followed  their  departing-  guest 
down  the  front  walk  to  the  lilac  trees. 

Before  mounting  I  put  my  hand  into 
my  pocket,  asking  Jonathan  Slyme : 
''  How  much  do  I  owe  for  the  lodging, 
my  friend  ?" 

''  Nawthing,  sir." 

But  Mrs.  Slyme  came  forward. 

"  If  you  will  kindly  give  me  one  of  the 
buttons  from  your  coat,  sir "  she  sug- 
gested. 

I  took  out  my  pen-knife,  thinking  that 
she  had  asked  a  very  small  return  for  the 
service  rendered  me,  and  was  deciding 
which  button  I  should  sacrifice,  when  she 
said : 

*'  I  have  the  scissors  right  here,  sir." 


1864.. 

N  the  year  1864  I  escaped  from  a 

Southern  prison. 

In  company  with  old  sergeant 

Ezekiel  Perkins,  without  whose 
aid  I  could  not  have  either  effected  my 
escape  or  survived  the  hardships  of  the 
subsequent  flight,  I  made  my  way  through 
the  mountains  of  North  Carolina  towards 
the  Northern  lines. 

Pressing  forward  by  night  and  lying 
hidden  during  the  day,  we  found  our- 
selves one  morning  just  before  daybreak 
in  the  neighborhood  of  what  appeared  to 
be  a  deserted  and  ruinous  town.  One 
ugly  brick  edifice,  with  iron  bars  at  the 
the  windows,  was  frightfully  suggestive 
of  that  abode  of  misery  from  which  we 
had  escaped ;  besides  this  there  were  half- 
a-dozen  shanties  or  hovels  and  the  decay- 
ing walls  of  what  had  once  been  a  planter's 
homestead. 

This  wretched,  drear}^  place  accorded 
well  with  the   condition  of   ragged,   half- 


5<^       G/^AV:   A  AT  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

starved  fugitives ;  and  our  hunger  gave 
us  boldness  to  remain  near  the  edge  of 
the  clearing  about  the  town  in  the  hope 
of  finding  some  opportunity  to  obtain 
food. 

There  was  no  sign  of  life  anywhere, 
even  after  the  sun  rose,  until  finally  from 
one  of  the  hovels  crept  forth  a  negro  man, 
almost  destitute  of  clothing,  who  seated 
himself  at  the  threshold  in  the  sunlight, 
shutting  himself  up  like  a  jack-knife. 
We  had  recently  learned  only  too  well 
what  that  position  meant :  it  meant  that 
the  black  man  was  starving. 

Without  further  hesitation  we  went  for- 
ward and  questioned  this  representative 
of  the  race  in  whose  behalf  a  great  war 
was  being  waged. 

He  said  that  he  had  been  a  slave  of 
Colonel  Owner,  whose  plantation  lay  a 
few  miles  to  the  westward ;  and  then  he 
told  about  his  master's  death  and  about 
Squire  Lynch  who  had  lived  "  over 
yonder  ",  pointing  to  the  ruinous  mansion, 
where  no  person  had  dared  to  dwell  since 
the  blood-marks  had  been  tracked  up  the 
stairs.  This  he  explained  as  well  as  he 
could  and  said  the  place  was  called  Amer- 
icus  City,  although  it  was  a  cursed  spot, 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  S7 

and  lately  all  the  inhabitants,  even  the 
prisoners  who  had  been  released  from  the 
jail  for  that  purpose,  had  gone  away  to 
fight. 

And  the  women  ? 

He  did  not  know  what  had  become  of 
them. 

Again  and  again  he  besought  the  two 
soldiers  to  give  him  bread,  and  he  refused 
to  be  persuaded  that  white  men  also  could 
be  without  food. 

This  inborn  and  ineradicable  belief  in 
the  superiority  of  white  men  moved  the 
good  Perkins  so  that  he  forgot  his  own 
condition  and  swore  ''  by  the  Etarnal  "  to 
give  that  negro  one  good  meal,  if  it  took  a 
week. 

It  did  take  all  of  that  day. 

"Who  is  the  nearest  neighbor?"  we 
asked. 

The  negro  pointed  to  a  mountain  which 
rose  just  above  the  town. 

"  Come  along !"  cried  Perkins,  and 
seized  the  negro  by  the  arm.  ''Come 
along  and  we'll  git  ye  somethin'  ter  eat !" 

But  the  negro  expressed  all  the  terror 
of  which  a  human  being  is  capable.  His 
eyes  rolled  until  only  the  whites  were  vis- 
ible ;    his  teeth   chattered ;    he  shook   all 


58      GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

over  as  with  a  violent  chill.  Neither  per- 
suasion nor  threats  took  any  effect  upon 
him.  He  said  that  the  Devil  lived  upon 
that  mountain  ;  he  had  rather  die  than  go 
there. 

We  left  him  in  the  power  of  that  fear 
and  struck  right  through  the  woods,  in 
the  direction  indicated  by  "  Caesar "  (so 
the  negro  gave  his  name).  If  a  planter 
lives  here,  we  will  soon  come  upon  a  road 
leading  to  his  house,  we  reasoned.  But 
no.  On  and  on  we  went,  the  forest  be- 
coming only  more  wild,  the  trees  larger 
and  the  silence  more  oppressive. 

We  had  begun  to  ascend  the  mountain. 

''We  may  as  well  go  high  enough  to 
get  a  view.  Then  we  can  surely  see  the 
house,"  I  suggested. 

But  higher  and  still  higher  upwards 
we  climbed  without  being  able  to  look 
off  through  the  luxuriant  foliage  and  rank 
growth. 

"  I  guess  I  might  shin  up  this  here  and 
take  a  look  for  that  gol'  durned  house", 
said  Perkins,  laying  his  hand  upon  the 
trunk  of  an  enormous  magnolia  tree. 

''  I  think  I  would  not  try",  I  answered, 
pointing  to  a  piece  of  rope,  dangling  from 
the  lowest  limb  and  a  small  heap  of  bones 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  S9 

below  it.  "  That  has  a  disagreeable 
look." 

Presently  we  were  guided  by  the  sound 
of  rushing  waters  and  came  upon  a 
beautiful  Avild  stream,  tumbling  down 
the  mountain  side.  The  course  of  this 
we  followed  upwards  until  finally  we 
were   repaid  with  an  extended  prospect. 

The  whole  country  was  spread  out  at 
our  feet.  There  was  Americus  City 
itself,  ''like  a  scurf-spot,"  said  Perkins; 
but  no  plantation  or  planter's  house. 

"  Good  day,  gentle-men  \  spoke  a  smooth, 
velvety  voice  almost  in  our  ears. 

We  turned  quickly  and  filled  with 
sudden  fear,  as  you  may  imagine ;  but 
only  to  find  that  the  voice  proceeded 
from  an  inoffensive  looking,  tall,  thin  man, 
very  plainly  but  most  neatly  dressed  in  a 
gray  suit,  wide-brimmed  hat  and  stout 
walking-shoes.  He  was  very  thin,  that 
was  the  only  peculiar  thing  in  his  appear- 
ance— except,  of  course,  that  he  had  ap- 
peared at  all.  He  was  leaning  against  a 
tree-trunk  and  when  he  saw  that  he  had 
secured  the  attention  of  the  two  soldiers 
he  lifted  his  hat  politely  and  deferentially. 

"  Excuse  the  interruption,  gentle-;;^^;/," 
he    continued,    after    the    long    pause    in 


6o       GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

which  the  startled  fugitives  had  stared 
at  him  in  stupid  amazement :  '*  I  supposed 
you  might  be  looking  for  my  masters 
house." 

Receiving  no  immediate  answer,  —  for 
this  remark  only  added  to  the  surprise 
which  he  had  already  excited — he  indi- 
cated, by  waving  his  hand,  what  he  had 
called  his  master's  house. 

There  it  was,  surely  enough,  not  far  off ; 
and  yet  it  is  scarcely  surprising  that  we, 
weary  soldiers,  whose  eyes  had  either 
been  fastened  upon  the  ground  before 
us,  as  we  climbed  the  steep  and  difficult 
way,  or  turned  from  the  mountain,  seek- 
ing the  plantation  upon  the  plain  below, — 
it  is  not  surprising  that  we  had  not  noticed 
this  house,  still  somewhat  above  us. 

Such  a  house !  If  the  largest  forest 
trees  had  fallen  together  in  regular  order, 
their  great  trunks  crossing  and  forming  a 
hollow  square,  upon  which  some  skillful 
workman  had  then  fitted  a  sloping  roof 
with  wide  eaves,  the  result  would  have 
been  such  a  house. 

Such  a  house  !  It  was  in  the  forest  and 
of  the  forest.  Externally  the  gigantic 
logs  were  untrimmed,  untouched,  save 
for  being  fitted  together  at  the  extremi- 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  6l 

ties.  The  thing  had  been  done  with  such 
care  that  it  seemed  the  work  of  chance. 
Surely  the  storm  wind  made  this  house 
and  man  onl}^  put  the  finishing  touches. 

Such  a  palace !  From  without  it  ap- 
peared rude;  not  a  bit  of  cultivation 
about  it ;  unbroken  forest  to  its  very 
eaves.  But  within!  —  smooth  and  pol- 
ished and  shining  floor  and  walls  and 
vaulted  ceiling  of  the  natural  wood.  Even 
here  art  seemed  to  be  held  in  check. 

One  enormous  chamber,  one  vast  fire- 
place, one  great  window,  filled  with  loz- 
enge-shaped panes  of  glass,  commanding 
the  southern  view,  the  western  end  of  the 
cha^nber  curtained  off,  as  though  for  a 
sleeping  apartment,  an  assortment  of  fire- 
arms,— bird-guns,  rifles  and  revolvers — in 
a  case  near  the  door,  a  generous  table : 
think  what  such  a  sight  must  have  been  to 
two  famished  wanderers,  who  had  tasted 
nothing  better  than  prison  fare  for  months 
and  not  a  morsel,  good  or  bad,  for  twenty- 
four  hours  ! 

That  table  was  a  sight  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

There  were  mountain  trout,  brown  and 
crisp  ;  there  was  a  juicy  leg  of  mutton, 
smoking  hot ;  there  was  the  incomparable 


62       GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

ham,  the  sweet,  mast-fed  ham  of  the  Caro- 
linas ;  there  was  a  small  mountain  of 
snowy  bread  and  a  dish  of  golden  butter 
next  a  pot  of  golden  honey  ;  there  were 
fruits,  especially  grapes,  in  a  kind  of 
woven  basket  and  there  were  crystal 
pitchers  filled  with  richly-colored   wines. 

These  things — which  seem  plain  and 
simple  enough,  being  written  down  here 
and  read  of  us  who  have  just  risen  from 
or  are  just  going  to  seat  ourselves  at  a 
similar  table,  —  think  how  these  viands, 
placed  upon  a  great  round  slab  of  polished 
oak,  must  have  charmed  the  eyes  of  starv- 
ing men ! 

''  My  master's  breakfast  is  prepared,  as 
you  see,  gent\Q-me7i.  I  expect  him  every 
moment." 

"  Who  is  your  master  ?"  I  asked. 

"Captain  Johnson.  Hark!  there  he 
comes  with  the  hounds,  gent\e-me7i  /''  said 
the  thin  man  in  gray. 

The  two  soldiers  exchanged  glances  full 
of  meaning. 

"  '  Captain,'  "  I  said. 

''Confed.  captain,"  echoed  Sergeant  Per- 
kins, in  the  same  tone  in  which  he  might 
have  said,  Confounded  captain.  "  And 
hounds,"  he  added. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  6 J 

**  Captain  Johnson  will  be  delighted  to 
see  you,  gentle;/^^;?.  He  never  allows 
strangers  to  come  here  ;  but  friends,  gen- 
tlemen he  knows, — it  never  happened  be- 
fore, because  his  hounds  are  very  fierce, 
splendid  animals,  gentlemen  !  You  will 
appreciate  them,  gex\\\.einen.  As  I  was 
about  to  take  the  liberty  to  say,  it  never 
happened  before  that  friends  of  my  master 
came  here  ;  but  he  will  be  delighted,  no 
doubt,  none  at  all." 

As  the  polite  man  in  gray  uttered  this 
in  a  bland,  drawling  tone,  rubbing  his 
hands  together  and  bowing  repeatedly, 
first  to  me  and  then  to  Sergeant  Perkins, 
there  came  into  his  lean  and  strongly- 
marked  face  a  certain  sly  and  evil  expres- 
sion, not  at  all  reassuring. 

Companions  in  arms  and  in  misfortune, 
sergeant  and  lieutenant  acted  upon  a  com- 
mon impulse  in  hastening  from  the  house. 
Then  we  heard,  borne  upon  a  gentle 
breeze  and  mellowed  by  the  distance,  the 
cry  of  a  pack  of  hounds.  We  did  not 
cease  to  hasten,  in  fact  we  ran  at  full 
speed,  with  many  falls  by  the  way  but 
fortunately  w^ithout  serious  injury,  down 
the  mountain  side  until  we  hoped  we 
were   out   of   reach   and    knew   we    were 


64       GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

out  of  breath.  Then  we  fell  upon  the 
earth  and  rested. 

I  had  never  aspired  to  the  distinction  of 
being  a  very  brave  man  (thus  I  reasoned, 
within  myself,  while  gasping  for  breath) ; 
but  Ezekiel  Perkins  was  brave,  as  every- 
body admitted.  If  anybody  ever  made 
fun  of  me,  Lieutenant  Penman,  for  run- 
ning away  from  the  captain  of  ever  so 
many  blood  hounds,  for  vindication  I 
should  simply  refer  the  scoffer  to  Sergeant 
Perkins. 

Having  settled  this  point  satisfactorily, 
my  hollow  stomach  prompted  the  next 
thought,  which  found  utterance  : 

"  Think  of  that  ham,  Perkins  !" 

"  What  can  we  do  for  pore  Caesar?"  the 
other  said,  showing  that  his  thoughts  had 
taken  a  very  different  turn,  much  to  his 
credit. 

''  We  might  go  back  to  the  road  and 
follow  it  until  we  come  to  a  house." 

''  Ef  they  don't  keep  blood-hounds,  all 
right,"  he  assented. 

So  we  trudged  along  and  did  finally  get 
what  we  wanted.  A  large,  squarely-built 
man,  who  looked  somewhat  like  a  parson 
and  rather  more  like  an  hotel  keeper,  who 
lived   in  a  large  square    house,  not  only 


MR.   PEiVMAN'S    VERSION  63 

gave  to  us  but  gave  the  best  he  had  ;  and 
when  we  had  eaten  he  added  for  our 
journe}^  a  large  loaf  and  a  jar  of  jelly. 

He  was  disposed  to  enter  into  conversa- 
tion, telling  us  that  his  name  was  Oldboy 
and  that  if  any  person  molested  us  were 
to  sa}^  that  we  knew  him,  when  it  would 
immediately  "  be  all  right."  But  Ezekiel 
Perkins  was  impatient,  finished  his  meal 
hastily  and,  seizing  the  loaf  and  the  jelly, 
started  up. 

''  Yes,  we  must  be  going,  and  we  thank 
you,  sir,  more  than "  I  began. 

''  Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,  I  reckon  ! 
Remember,  Oldboy  is  the  name  !"  he  in- 
terrupted ;  and  he  waved  his  hand  to  us 
with  quite  a  grand  gesture  as  we  turned 
down  the  red-clay  road. 

We  returned  with  all  speed  and  with 
lighter  hearts  to  ''  Americus  City ;"  but 
when,  late  in  the  afternoon,  we  reached 
that  ill-fated  town,  its  last  inhabitant, 
''pore  feller  Caesar,"  as  Ezekiel  Perkins 
said,  with  trouble  and  complaint  and  la- 
ment in  his  rough  voice, — "  pore  Caesar  " 
was  dead. 


i882 

R.  and  Mrs.  Crosstrees  occupy  the 
largest  house  fronting  the  Old- 
haven  green.  True,  their  house 
can  not  be  called  a  strictly  hand- 
some one  ;  for  in  spite  of  its  six  or  seven 
stories  piled  one  upon  the  other,  and  in 
spite  of  its  imposing  ground-plan,  which 
gives  the  structure  a  solid  and  substantial 
appearance,  showing  clearly  that  it  was 
built  before  the  day  of  elevators  or  lifts  ; 
in  spite  of  its  thousands  of  panes  of  shin- 
ing window  glass,  a  red  and  white  barber's 
pole  protruding  from  one  corner  and  a 
black  and  gilt  sign,  bearing  the  inscrip- 
tion "  T.  R.  Houser,  Tailor,"  mar  the 
architectural  effect. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crosstrees  are  always  ''  at 
home."  No  matter  at  what  hour  you 
may  see  fit  to  call  upon  them — early  morn- 
ing, noon,  midnight — always  they  are  pre- 
pared to  receive  yovi  and  indeed  over- 
joyed to  entertain  you.  The  longer  you 
stay,  the  better  are  they  pleased.     Com- 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  67 

ing  with  or  without  introduction  to  them, 
it  makes  no  difference.  Coming-  singly  or 
with  all  the  good  friends  you  have  in  the 
world,  one  and  all  will  be  given  the  free- 
dom of  the  house  and  the  table.  Such 
hospitality  seems  truly  princely  ;  yet  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Crosstrees  are  not  even  aristo- 
crats. 

Hospitality  has  been  the  mark  and  the 
distinction  of  the  upper  classes  through- 
out the  history  of  our  race.  Even  in  the 
earliest  times  we  find  Hrothgar,  the 
treasure-giver,  most  praised  as  he  dis- 
penses hospitality  in  the  high  hall,  Heorot, 
while  queen  Waeltheow  bears  about  cups 
of  mead  to  the  guests.  And  yet  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Crosstrees,  the  proprietors  of  so  large 
a  hall,  the  tireless  host  and  hostess  of  the 
Elm  House,  are  not  even  aristocrats. 

"  Perhaps  that  fact  may  be  explained  by 
the  manner  in  which  they  dispense  hospi- 
tality," someone  suggests. 

Dear  sir,  nothing  could  exceed  their 
fitness  for  this  occupation.  Their  manner 
is  perfection  itself.  Even  in  person  they 
seem  to  have  been  designed  by  nature  to 
complement  each  other  and  together  to 
discharge  every  duty  of  the  complete 
host.     Mr.   Crosstrees   is  very  large   and 


68      GRA  Y:   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

very  stout — too  large  and  too  stout  for  the 
smaller  rooms  of  this  great  house ;  but 
in  the  vast  dining  hall,  or  in  the  hallway, 
or  expanding  upon  the  broad  sidewalk 
before  his  hospitably  wide  front  door,  he 
truly  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired.  He 
occupies  his  house.  No  one  could  do  it 
better.  But  of  course  it  is  imperatively 
necessary  that  such  a  house  as  this,  in 
order  to  be  truly  hospitable,  should  be 
occupied  by  its  host ;  and  accordingly 
Mr.  Crosstrees  is  proud  and  happy  in  the 
thought  that  he  does  his  duty  and  can  not 
help  doing  his  duty,  when  he  stands  with 
one  puffy  hand  fumbling  his  heavy  watch- 
chain,  which  is  drawn  through  the  lowest 
button-hole  in  that  mountainous  region  of 
his  waistcoat,  while  with  the  other  puffy 
hand  he  draws  out  to  their  greatest  length 
his  bushy  side-whiskers  in  order  to  in- 
crease by  their  addition  his  lateral  extent, 
bowing  and  smiling  to  every  person  who 
comes  in  or  passes  out  and  equally  ready 
to  exclaim  genially  that  it  is  a  fine  day  to 
a  guest  who  looks  ruddy,  or  with  a  shud- 
der to  protest  to  a  guest  who  looks 
pinched  that  it  is  "bitter  cold  indeed, 
sir !" 

Mrs.    Crosstrees   does    not   occupy  the 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  dp 

house,  nor  is  it  even  an  easy  matter  to 
find  her  in  any  one  smallest  corner  of  it 
at  a  given  time.  She  is  a  short,  thin, 
midge  of  a  woman,  who  darts  from  gar- 
ret to  cellar,  from  front  to  rear,  always 
choosing  narrow  doors  for  her  sudden  and 
noiseless  exits  and  entrances,  narrow  and 
dark  passages  for  her  going  and  coming  ; 
always  pouncing  upon  some  idling  servant 
girl  and  stinging  her  into  a  sense  of  duty, 
doing  wonders  in  wardrobes  and  pantries 
and  such  small  nooks,  always  active, 
everywhere  useful,  seldom  "seen.  Mrs. 
Crosstrees  keeps  the  "  Elm  House."  Sure- 
ly no  guest  has  just  cause  to  complain  of 
an  hotel  thus  occupied  and  kept  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Crosstrees. 

One  day,  a  few  years  ago,  these  good 
people  were  in  a  most  unusual  situation, — 
that  is,  in  the  same  room,  although  it  was 
high  noon. 

This  is  a  circumstance  so  exceptional 
that  it  is  to  be  observed  at  only  one 
period  in  the  entire  year.  Merely  to  men- 
tion it  brings  to  our  minds  the  conviction 
that  the  dull  season  had  settled  heavily 
down  upon  Oldhaven.  The  Elm  House, 
sensible  of  this  condition  of  the  town 
generally,  required  so  little  occupying  on 


70       GRA  Y :   AN   OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

the  part  of  its  landlord,  and  so  little 
keeping  on  the  part  of  its  landlady,  that 
both  of  these  efficient  persons  found  their 
occupations  gone  during  a  p.ortion  of  the 
day,  and  improved  the  opportunity  for  see- 
ing something  of  each  other  in  a  new  light 
— namely,  the  daylight. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  middle  of  August. 
The  air  was  heavy  and  motionless.  It 
seemed  to  be  laid  upon  the  city  and  to 
press  down  upon  the  spirits  of  men  with 
an  intolerable  weight.  People  had  gone 
away  to  the  mountains,  to  the  sea-shore, 
to  Europe.  The  Elm  House  guests  were 
to  be  found  wherever  the  winds  blow. 

Although  long  experience  had  taught 
them  not  to  expect  any  person  at  this 
season,  and  especially  at  this  hour  of  the 
day,  yet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crosstrees  were 
occupying  and  keeping  a  room  which 
commanded  a  view  of  the  approaches  to 
the  front  door  of  the  Elm  House  from  all 
directions.  From  force  of  habit,  it  would 
seem,  Mrs.  Crosstrees  had  out  her  pocket- 
handkerchief  and  was  flicking  imaginary 
particles  of  dust  from  the  cover  of  a  small 
table  which  stood  in  the  window  ;  while 
Mr.  Crosstrees  stood  upon  the  central 
rose  of  the  flowery  carpet,    bowing   and 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  7 1 

smiling  at  his  helpmeet  and  observing 
frequently  that  it  was  a  very  warm  day. 

''  It  might  be  worse,"  spoke  up  the 
little  woman,  when  he  had  given  utter- 
ance to  this  sentiment  for  the  seventh 
time. 

*'  Very  true,  very  true,  my  dear,"  he 
rejoined  with  a  beaming  and  responsive 
expression  ;  continuing  then,  as  though 
she  had  said  something  further  of  a  cheer- 
ful nature,  ''  Yes,  indeed :  I  hope  so,  in- 
deed !" 

"  Crosstrees !"  she  cried  in  her  biting 
way.  ''  You  are  a-;^ —  Why !  there's 
someone  knocking !"  and  she  darted  to 
the  door. 

It  was  the  hall-boy.  ''  Gelm'n  down 
stairs,"  he  muttered. 

''  A  gentleman  down  stairs !"  repeated 
Mr.  Crosstrees.  ""  And  how  did  the  gen- 
tleman arrive,  Sidney  ?  I  have  not  seen 
any  gentleman  drive  up,  or  walk  up,  or 
come  up,  I  think."  Nevertheless  he  did 
follow  the  nimble  hall-boy,  bowing  as  he 
went. 

A  very  thin  man,  in  rough  traveling 
suit  and  tall  hat,  stood  at  the  office,  enter- 
ing his  name  in  the  register.  Crosstrees 
advanced    to   within    a   few   feet   of    the 


72       GRA  Y:   AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

stranger,  and  then,  striking  his  inevitable 
attitude,  said  in  his  blandest  tones : 

''  Ah  !     A  very  warm  day,  sir  !" 

The  stranger  completed  the  entry, 
blotted  it  carefully,  and  laid  down  the 
pen  before  answering.  Then,  without 
turning  his  head,  he  replied  :  "  Rather. 
Can  you  give  me  rooms,  Mr.  Crosstrees  ?" 

"Certainly,  certainly,  sir!  When  will 
the  other  gentlemen  arrive,  sir  ? — or  per- 
haps Madame — (here  he  read  the  name 
over  the  stranger's  shoulder)— perhaps 
Madame  Gray?" 

"  There  are  no  other  gentlemen  ;  but  I 
want  two  or  three  large  rooms  adjoining 
— opening  into  one  another,  Mr.  Crosstrees, 
if  you  please." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Gray.  Undoubtedly, 
sir  !"  cried  the  delighted  landlord,  before 
whose  mental  vision  a  vista  of  unexpected 
profits  began  to  disclose  itself.  ''  You  can 
be  accommodated,  sir,  I  should  hope !" 
Here  he  glanced  again  at  the  entry  in  the 
register.  ''  From  Oldhaven,  sir  !  You  are 
of  our  town?  Now  I  flattered  myself  that 
I  had  some  acquaintance  among  the  lead- 
ing families,  in  the  way  of  my  business, 
sir,  but  your  name  and  your  face  are — 
until  this  moment  have  been " 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  73 

"  1  have  not  lived  here  before,  Mr. 
Crosstrees,  my  good  sir,"  interrupted  the 
stranger  in  a  very  polite  and  insinuating 
manner ;  "  but  at  present  here  I  am  and 
here  I  mean  to  remain.  That  will  not  be 
unpleasant  to  the  good  people  of  your 
lovely  city,  I  sincerely  trust." 

"  Quite  the  contrary,  quite  the  contrary  : 
most  agreeable  and  flattering,  Mr.  Gray. 
And  permit  me  to  say  that  you  could  not 
have  chosen  a  more  favorable  point  to 
alight  and  begin  your  acquaintance  with 
our  town — our  lovely  city,  as  you  say, — 
than  the  Elm  House.  Here  you  will  find 
all  the  comforts — I  think  I  may  say  it,  sir, 
for  I  ought  to  know — all  the  comforts,  of 
home  ;  and  among  the  guests  of  the  Elm 
House  you  will  meet  many  of  our  best 
people,  belonging  to  the  most  exclusive 
circles.  To  be  sure,"  he  added  with  some 
misgiving,  "  this  is  not  exactly  the  most 
favorable  season.  You  happen  in  upon  us 
during  the  quiet  season,  Mr.  Gray."  This 
was  said  in  an  indefinitely  generous  fashion, 
as  though  to  intimate  that  at  other  times 
great  crowds  surged  along  the  pavements 
and  a  press  of  vehicles  blocked  the  way 
before  the  Elm  House. 

*'  Never  mind  that,"  said  the  agreeable 


74       GRA  Y:   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

Mr.  Gray.  *'  This  quiet  season  is  most 
suitable  for  my  purpose,  about  which,  by 
the  way,  I  should  like  to  have  a  few  words 
with  you,  my  good  sir ;  for  I  see  that  you 
are  a  man  of  the  world  who  understands 
that  it  is  for  the  advantage  of  his  city  to 
encourage  strangers  to  settle — strangers 
who  have  a  little  money  to  invest,  you 
know.  Eh  ?  Mr.  Crosstrees,  that  helps 
things  along,  I  reckon,  eh  ?" 

Thereupon  Mr.  Gray  and  Mr.  Cross- 
trees  adjourned  to  the  reading-room  and 
entered  into  a  conversation  in  which  the 
latter  became  so  absorbed  that  he  was  only 
recalled  to  a  realization  of  his  other  duties 
by  the  entrance  of  the  hall-boy,  summon- 
ing him  to  superintend  the  final  prepara- 
tions for  dinner.  This  conversation  we 
shall  not  report  in  full ;  for  anyone  who 
desires  may  hear  it  word  for  word  from 
the  worthy  landlord's  own  lips. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  it  made  a 
tremendous  impression  upon  Mr.  Cross- 
trees.  This  affable  Mr.  Gray !  How 
modestly  and  genially  he  at  first  proceed- 
ed to  interest  the  listener  in  vivid  descrip- 
tions of  travel  and  adventure,  touching 
upon  the  wonderful  and  beautiful  cities 
and  palaces  and  hotels  which  he  had  seen 


MR.  PENMAN'S    VERSION  75 

in  all  parts  of  the  world,  with  such  power 
of  word-painting  that  even  the  heavy- 
witted  Crosstrees  seemed  to  see  the  glories 
of  Europe  and  Asia  and  Chicago  and  Cali- 
fornia pass  in  review  before  his  fascinated 
gaze !  How  deftly  then  he  changed  the 
theme  from  himself,  who  had  enjoyed  all 
these  advantages,  who  knew  all  languages 
and  had  conversed  with  all  the  magnates 
and  celebrities  of  the  earth  in  their  respec- 
tive native  tongues, — from  himself,  who 
lived  like  a  prince,  requiring  the  best  suite 
of  apartments  and  the  best  "  turn  out  "  to 
be  held  for  his  exclusive  use,  to  his 
master ! 

His  master !  The  attentive  auditor 
could  not  trust  his  ears.  Surely  he  had 
mistaken  the  word.  But  no :  Mr.  Gray 
repeated  the  startling  expression ;  and  if 
he  had  shown  himself  an  interesting  talker 
when  the  subject  had  been  his  own  experi- 
ences, how  eloquent  did  he  become  in 
praise  of  this  master !  Surely,  surely, 
nothing  in  real-life  had  ever  approached 
the  magnificence  of  this  being  whose  fore- 
runner and  herald  and  humble  servitor 
Mr,  Gray  himself  was.  If  Mr.  Gray,  sec- 
retary to  Donald  Livingstone,  Esquire,  can 
be  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than  the  best 


76      GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

rooms  in  the  Elm  House,  what  must  Don- 
ald Livingstone,  Esquire,  be,  and  where- 
with can  he  be  satisfied  ?  That  was 
indeed  a  question  enticing  Mr.  Crosstrees' 
imagination  into  unknown  regions  where 
he  felt  unsafe  and  nothing  seemed  real. 

One  thing,  however,  was  clear :  Donald 
Livingstone  in  his  own  good  time  was 
coming  to  Oldhaven,  and  Oldhaveners 
would  some  day  awaken  to  the  fact  that 
there  was  a  great  and  good  man  in  the 
country  whose  existence  they  had  hitherto 
ignored.  He  was  not  merely  a  million- 
aire. (Mr.  Gray  darkly  hinted  that  per- 
haps the  most  colossal  fortunes  were 
those  of  which  the  existence  was  not  even 
suspected  by  the  public.  A  careful  finan- 
cier, he  suggested,  might  distribute  his 
securities  so  widely  that  only  a  few 
millions  would  be  found  in  any  one 
market.)  Oh,  no ;  he  was  not  merely 
such  a  millionaire,  but  a  person  of  mag- 
nificent abilities,  a  clean  record  (Mr.  Gray 
did  not  intimate  that  "clean  record"  and 
obscure  past  were  equipollent  terms),  and 
of  a  charming  and  commanding  presence. 

Donald  Livingstone  was  about  to  return 
to  America  after  a  prolonged  absence  and 
much  travel  in  forei2:n   countries,  where 


MR.  PENMAN'S    VERSION  77 

he  had  devoted  himself  with  all  his  vast 
intellectual  resources  to  the  study  of 
various  forms  of  society  and  government. 
He  was  now  intending  to  enter  public 
life  in  his  native  land,  and  had  chosen 
Oldhaven  for  his  residence  because  the 
reputation  which  that  town  bears  for 
learning  and  solid  merit  assured  him  that 
he  would  find  congenial  spirits  there. 
This  preference  he  accorded  to  Oldhaven 
rather  than  to  another  American  city,  it 
was  most  significantly  added,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  he  had  already  an 
enviable  reputation  as  well  as  great  social 
and  political  influence  elsewhere.  His 
business  connections  extended  like  a  net- 
work throughout  the  West,  while  in  the 
South  he  had  enormous  estates. 

We  can  hardly  censure  our  fleshy  and 
commonplace  host  for  the  simple  delight 
he  took  in  this  wondrous  tale.  As  a  sub- 
stantial citizen  he  was,  with  good  right, 
concerned  for  the  prosperity  of  his  city, 
which  the  coming  of  such  a  grand  person- 
age would  greatly  promote.  He  wanted 
to  believe  that  Donald  Livingstone,  Es- 
quire, was  the  wealthiest  and  most  excel- 
lent of  living  men ;  and  which  one  of  us 
can   afford   to   cast    the   first   stone   at    a 

17 


7S      GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

decent  fellow  who  believes  what  he  wants 
to  believe  ? 

If  Secretary  Gray  had  in  view  certain 
ends  of  his  own  when  he  thus  favored  his 
host  with  a  friendly  exhibition  of  his  con- 
versational powers,  he  probably  was  grati- 
fied with  the  result.  The  immediate  con- 
sequences were  twofold  :  Mr.  Crosstrees 
trumpeted  it  with  full  cheeks.  No  person 
in  Oldhaven  occupied  a  better  position  for 
publishing-  a  bit  of  interesting  news  far 
and  wide.  As  proprietor  of  the  most 
popular  hotel,  and  as  habitually  stationing 
himself  in  its  hallway  or  doorway  in  the 
manner  which  has  been  noticed,  the  whole 
population  was,  so  to  speak,  within  reach 
of  his  voice.  If  we  had  a  civic  Fame,  that 
divinity .  smiled,  and  bowed,  and  fumbled 
its  watch-chain  hospitably  and  expansively 
in  the  Elm  House.  So,  then,  every  per- 
son who  had  remained  in  Oldhaven 
through  the  dull  month  of  August  knew 
that  a  great  and  good  man  intended  to 
honor  the  town.  If  our  publican  Fame 
uttered  extravagances  in  this  connection, 
those  of  a  skeptical  turn  ascribed  so  much 
as  they  could  not  believe  to  Crosstrees' 
human  side  and  believed  the  rest.  We 
also  wanted  to  believe  the  report,  and  did. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  /p 

The  second  consequence  referred  to  was 
that  Crosstrees  sought  to  show  himself  wor- 
thy of  the  affability  and  condescension  of 
his  guest  by  communicating  to  him  every 
bit  of  gossip,  every  morsel  of  local  and  pri- 
vate history  which  his  memory  supplied. 
Perhaps  these  disclosures  formed  a  portion 
of  the  contents  of  Secretary  Gray's  daily 
letter  to  Donald  Livingstone,  Esquire. 

But  it  will  be  readily  assumed  that 
Secretary  Gray's  circle  of  acquaintances 
rapidly  increased,  first  of  all,  naturally, 
among  the  boarders  at  the  Elm  House. 
Crosstrees — or  rather  Mrs.  Crosstrees — 
furnished  an  excellent  table,  and  even  in 
summer  the  large  dining  hall  was  quite 
well  filled  with  guests.  It  was  a  cool  and 
airy  room  furthermore.  The  gentlemen 
had  the  habit  of  resting  there  after  dinner, 
and  Crosstrees  being  always  present  and 
addressing  everybody  in  turn,  serving  as 
a  kind  of  introducer  or  chamberlain,  the 
conversation  was  apt  to  become  quite 
general.  Under  these  circumstances,  the 
natural  center  of  interest  and  attention 
was  the  secretary  of  that  semi-fabulous 
personage  who  was  to  come. 

I  had  been  passing  a  few  days  in  Oska- 
wask,  whither  I  had  escorted  my  mother, 


8o       GRA  Y :   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

but  returned  to  Oldhaven  soon  after 
Gray's  arrival.  Several  important  cases  of 
which  I  had  charge  were  set  down  for  the 
next  term  of  court ;  so  I  had  no  choice 
about  returning.  But  I  found  the  house 
very  desolate  (my  dear  father  having  died 
three  years  before),  and  decided  to  shut  it 
up  and  live  at  the  hotel  during  my 
mother's  absence.  Accordingly,  one 
morning  I  entered  the  Elm  House,  and, 
finding  that  breakfast  was  not  yet  served, 
turned  into  the  reading-room  to  have  a 
look  at  the  ''  Chronicle." 

The  various  papers  were  laid  in  order 
upon  a  large  table  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  but  the  "  Chronicle"  was  not  among 
the  number.  Almost  any  other  might 
have  answered  the  purpose  as  well,  no 
doubt ;  but  it  had  been  my  habit  for  many 
years  to  read  that  particular  newspaper 
before  breakfast  or  at  breakfast,  and  it 
seemed  a  rather  irritating  circumstance 
that  the  ''Chronicle"  should  have  been 
selected  from  among  so  many  by  the  only 
other  person  in  the  reading-room. 

For  it  was  the  ''  Chronicle  " — I  recog- 
nized it  beyond  a  doubt — being  held  up 
before  the  face  of  a  man  who  sat  in  the 
corner  farthest  from  the  window. 


MR.  PENMAN'S    VERSION  8 J 

''  Is  the  fellow  very  short-sighted  ?  Is  he 
asleep?"  I  muttered,  walking  up  and  down 
the  length  of  the  reading-room  and  tread- 
ing rather  more  heavily  than  was  my  cus- 
tom, for  the  purpose  of  rousing  the  sleeper, 
or  perhaps  only  because  very  small  things 
irritate  one  before  breakfast. 

''  Will  he  never  finish  ?" 

At  this  instant  the  reader  laid  the  paper 
across  his  knees  and  looked  at  me.  It  was 
a  very  mild  and  inoffensive  glance  ;  yet  I 
was  quite  startled  by  the  sudden  answer 
to  my  unspoken  thought  and  by  the  face 
itself. 

Where  had  I  seen  that  face  before? — 
When  ? — An  unpleasant  suggestion  in  it  ? 
Yes. — Long  while  ago?  Yes. — Oskawask? 
Yes.  First  visit  there  ?  The  old  portrait  ? 
Yes. — No,  it  couldn't  be  that:  that  was 
like  Israel.  What  then  ?  A  most  unpleas- 
ant suggestion.  Dogs  !  Is  it  like  a  dog's 
face?  Not  that,  exactly.  Dogs,  though, 
that  was  certain.  Hounds — blood-hounds  ! 
The  southern  mountain !  The  too  polite 
servant  in  gray.     That  is  the  very  face  ! 

If  I  stared  rudely,  as  I  fear,  at  the 
gentleman  who  sat  in  the  corner  most 
distant  from  the  window,  at  least  that  per- 
son did  not  resent  or  appear  conscious  of 


82       GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

such  rudeness.  He  again  held  the  paper 
before  his  face  and  continued  to  read 
for  a  moment ;  then  arose  and  advancing 
towards  me,  offered  me  the  "  Chronicle  " 
in  a  very  civil  manner,  saying,  "Perhaps 
you  would  like  to  look  at  this  paper,  sir." 

"  Perhaps  I  would,"  in  my  surprise  I  re- 
peated,— surprised  and  startled  even  more 
than  I  had  been  a  moment  before ;  for 
when  he  came  forward  and  spoke,  this 
man  seemed  to  be  a  total  stranger,  quite 
unlike  that  drawling,  servile  man-in-gray 
in  several  particulars.  There  were,  to  be 
sure,  the  same  sharp  features  and  cavern- 
ous eyes :  the  general  outline  of  the  face 
also  was  the  same  :  but  these  features  were 
less  strongly  marked  than  those  indelibly 
impressed  upon  my  memory  by  the  terror 
and  the  humiliating  flight  down  the  moun- 
tain side.  This  man  was  also  not  older — 
perhaps  even  younger — than  that  one  had 
made  the  impression  of  being. 

''Confound  that  rascal,"  I  said  to  m3^self. 
"  He  has  at  any  rate  been  punished  by 
growing  into  an  old  rascal  by  this  time  !" 

Of  course  I  sought  to  atone  for  my 
rudeness,  in  staring  at  this  stranger  and 
repeating  his  words,  by  showing  him  some 
attention  when  we  met  in  the  dining-hall. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  83 

Among  other  things  I  took  pleasure  in 
speaking  at  some  length  about  John  Eaton 
and  his  adopted  son  Winthrop,  when  Gray 
intimated  that  he  knew  somewhat,  and  de- 
sired to  learn  more,  of  the  young  man's 
strange  history. 

However,  I  saw  this  Gray  only  three  or 
four  times  at  the  Elm  House  table  ;  for  on 
the  second  day  my  mother  returned  quite 
unexpectedly,  and  I  of  course  resumed  my 
home  life. 

Less  than  a  week  after  his  arrival  in 
Oldhaven,  Gray  had  purchased  "  the  pala- 
tial Hopkins  residence"  —  so  the  local 
papers  informed  us.  Then,  the  lot  upon 
which  this  elegant  house  stood  not  being 
large  enough  to  accord  with  his  notion  of 
his  master's  importance,  he  purchased  also 
the  adjoining  places,  to  the  number  of 
eight,  caused  all  buildings  to  be  removed 
therefrom — excepting  one  which  he  re- 
served for  a  porter's  lodge — and  by  means 
of  grading  and  turfing  and  adding  serpen- 
tine walks  and  other  novelties,  created 
quite  a  little  park  in  the  center  of  the 
town. 

Next  he  fell  to  work  upon  the  house  it- 
self, and,  without  attempting,  as  a  less  con- 
siderate person  might  have  done,  to  trans- 


84       GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

form  it  into  a  German  Schloss  or  a  French 
chateau — anything  in  fact  which  was  for- 
eign to  its  original  design — ,  he  evidently 
realized  that  he  had  in  hand  one  of  the 
best  houses  in  the  city,  and  succeeded  so 
well  in  perfecting  all  its  appointments  that 
it  became  distinctly  and  indisputably 
the  very  best  house  in  the  city. 

All  this  work  was  done  with  such  ad- 
mirable rapidity,  by  means  of  a  lavish 
expenditure  of  money  and  the  employ- 
ment of  a  host  of  laborers,  that  admiration 
for  Gray  infected  all  classes  of  Oldhaven's 
citizens.  He  was  looked  upon  as  the  real 
millionaire,  the  real  owner  of  this  splendid 
new  place,  the  real  friend  of  the  laboring 
men  and  the  shop-keepers.  Say  what  he 
could,  the  good  people  who  received  so 
large  an  amount  of  good  money  from 
Gray  would  not  believe,  could  not  con- 
ceive, that  another  stood  above  him  and 
commanded  him.  ''  The  man  who  pays 
is  master" :  such  was  the  lesson  of  their 
daily  lives. 

When  all  preparations  had  been  com- 
pleted, Donald  Livingstone  arrived. 

The  sensation  produced  by  this  event 
answered  Gray's  expectations  and  fully 
rewarded  his  exertions.     On  the  day  fol- 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  8^ 

lowing  his  arrival  several  important  par- 
ticulars were  announced  by  everyone  to 
everybody :  Mr.  Livingstone  was  unmar- 
ried ;  he  was  apparently  about  fifty  years 
old  ;  he  was  a  remarkably  handsome  man 
with  a  full  black  beard.  In  the  natural 
course  of  events  I  saw  this  hero  of  the 
hour :  in  fact  he  presented  to  me  a  letter 
of  introduction  from  a  person  of  distinc- 
tion. The  interview,  being  brief  and  for- 
mal, may  be  dismissed  with  few  words. 
Whereas  I  had  anticipated  little  pleasure 
from  meeting  this  person,  whom  I  had 
feared  I  should  find  a  showy  and  preten- 
tious upstart  fellow,  I  was  on  the  contrary 
charmed  and  delighted. 


OSKA  WASK  IN  THE   YEAR  1883 

UR  village  street  is  beautifully 
shaded  :  suppose  we  walk 
down  to  the  library, — unless 
you  prefer  riding,  Mr.  Living- 
stone ;  in  which  case  you  have  only  to 
speak  the  word,  sir.  Let  me  ring  this 
bell,  and  the  carriage  will  be  around  in 
less  than  five  miutes,  I  can  promise  you. 
Everything  goes  by  the  sound  of  a  bell 
here,  sir,  in  Oskawask.  A  manufacturing 
village,  Mr.  Livingstone  :  everything  done 
to  the  sound  of  a  bell !" 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Slyme.  If  my  friend 
Mr.  Penman  is  wilhng,  we  will  walk 
down." 

"  Let's  walk,  by  all  means,  Samuel,"  said 
the  gentleman  last  named. 

"  Just  as  you  say  ;  entirely  at  your  ser- 
vice, Mr.  Livingstone.  It  is  such  a  pleas- 
ant morning — such  a  fine  air  stirring  this 
morning  —  it  might  be  pleasant,  as  you 
say.  My  habit  is,  as  my  brother-in-law 
that  is  to  be,  Mr.  Penman  here,   will  tell 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION     .  87 

you,  to  ride  to  my  office  and  from  my 
office.  A  plain  manufacturing  town,  sir, 
but  we  have  our  comforts." 

"  You  are  too  modest  by  half,  my  dear 
sir,  permit  me  to  say.  Your  own  house 
and  grounds  are  charming,  Mr.  Sly  me, — 
charming.  I  enjoyed  a  little  stroll  about 
the  grounds  before  breakfast  and  looked 
into  the  conservatories.  This  should  be 
called  elegance  and  luxury:  it  is  more 
than  comfort." 

"  Such  commendation  from  you,  Mr. 
Livingstone,  is  gratifying,  highly  gratify- 
ing." 

''  I  can't  thank  you  enough,  Mr.  Pen- 
man, for  having  introduced  me  here.  You 
should  know,  Mr.  Sly  me,  that  my  interest 
had  been  aroused  by  what  I  had  heard 
said  about  Oskawask  ;  and  when  I  learned 
that  Mr.  Penman  had  the  pleasantest  rela- 
tions with  the  leading  family  here,  I  took 
the  liberty  of  requesting,  him  to  introduce 
me  to  you,  sir." 

"  All  the  more  flattering  on  that  ac- 
count, I  am  sure,"  said  Samuel  Slyme, 
trying  to  appear  less  flattered  than  he 
really  was. 

During  the  foregoing  interchange  of 
compliments   (I    thought   them  very  tire- 


88      GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

some  and  was  ashamed  of  Samuel's  com- 
pany manners)  the  three  gentlemen  had 
sauntered  away  from  the  door  of  the  new 
and  imposing,  if  somewhat  too  ornate, 
Slyme  mansion  and  now  caught  step  as 
they  passed  through  the  gate  and  turned 
down  Main-street. 

''  How  old  is  your  village?"  asked  Liv- 
ingstone. 

"  That  depends,"  replied  Samuel  with 
more  assurance,  although  still  nervously 
conscious  of  the  impression  he  was  mak- 
ing and  desired  to  make.  "  In  the  six- 
teenth century,  its  dwellings  were  circular 
in  form,  about  ten  or  twelve  paces  in  cir- 
cumference, made  of  logs  split  in  half, 
without  any  regularity  of  architecture 
and  covered  with  roofs  of  straw  nicely 
put  on, — so  at  least  an  Italian — a  Floren- 
tine— what's  his  name  ?" 

"  Verrazzano,"  I  suggested,  although 
knowing  that  this  hesitation  was  for  effect. 

"  Verrazzano — that  is  it.  Verrazzano, 
writing  in  1524,  so  described  them." 

''  That  is,  the  dweUings  in  your  town 
were  not  so  fine  then  as  now,  while  the 
trees,  I  presume,  were  even  finer  and 
much  more  numerous,"  said  Livingstone, 
smiling. 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  89 

"  Exactly  so,  Mr.  Livingstone.  Capital, 
sir  !"  assented  Samuel,  and  then  pursued 
his  theme  :  "  Nothing  remains  of  that  an- 
cient village  except  its  name  and  an 
abundance  of  arrow-heads  and  rude  stone 
implements,  buried  in  the  earth  and 
brought  to  light  by  subsoil  plowing. 

''  It  was  the  capital  of  a  tribe  of  In- 
dians. 

"  Now  the  Indians  and  our  ancestors 
were  too  entirely  different  in  very  many 
respects  to  live  side  by  side." 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  said  Livingstone.  "  It  is 
true  that  in  our  own  day  the  African 
savage  has  been  domesticated,  so  to  speak, 
and  while  still  but  half  domesticated,  has 
been  made  our  political  equal :  but  the 
African  was  imported,  and  that  makes  the 
difference." 

Samuel  Slyme  rarely  looked  one  full  in 
the  face  ;  and  after  the  last  remark  he 
merely  glanced  at  his  distinguished  guest 
to  see  if  he  could  be  chaffing.  Living- 
stone however  was  apparently  all  earnest- 
ness and  attention.  The  manufacturer 
continued  : 

''  I  know  almost  nothing  about  the  his- 
tory of  that  older  village.  There  is  no 
record    except   a   very   meager   one.      A 


pO       GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

hundred  years  later  than  the  Florentine's 
visit,  our  ancestors  surrounded  the  Indian 
village  and,  after  a  fervent  prayer  offered 
by  their  leader,  the  pious  Straitcut,  at- 
tacked it  with  fire  and  sword.  If  any  of 
the  inhabitants  escaped,  the  historian  is  in 
error  ;  for  he  says  all  perished." 

**  Eloquently  simple,"  observed  Living- 
stone blandly.  "  Quite  like  that  famous 
record  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  chronicle : 
*  An.  491.  In  this  year  ^lle  and  Cissa 
besieged  Andredesceaster,  and  slew  all 
that  dwelt  therein ;  not  even  one  Briton 
was  there  left.'  " 

Samuel  again  raised  his  eyes  to  meet 
the  attentive  gaze  of  the  great  man  at  his 
side,  but  faltered  and  proceeded  in  some 
confusion  : 

"  As  for  the  spirit  in  which  this  was 
done,  we  have  the  evidence  of  our  village 
name.  Our  ancestors  had  determined  to 
call  the  new  settlement,  on  the  site  of  the 
Indian  fort,  Mercy  town,  in  recognition  of 
God's  goodness  in  delivering  the  strong- 
hold of  the  heathen  into  their  hands  ; 
when  their  leader,  who  was  as  learned  as 
pious,  explained  that  the  Indian  name, 
Oskawaska,  signified  '  The  town  of  the 
children  of  the  Great  Spirit.'     Wherefore 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  9 1 

it  seemed  good  to  our  ancestors  to  retain 
the  Indian  designation. 

"  That  is  all  we  know  of  the  history  of 
the  older  village  ;  so  I  can't  tell  you  how 
old  it  is,  if  you  mean  including  that. 

''  If  you  mean  from  the  white-man's  tak- 
ing possession,  I  can't  be  much  more  ex- 
plicit. It  didn't  deserve  the  name  of 
*  town  '  till  long  afterwards.  The  first  set- 
tlers must  have  been  unprosperous,  for  the 
new  '  Town  of  the  children  of  the  Great 
Spirit'  did  not  grow.  Probably  only  two 
or  three  houses,  or  rude  huts,  and  a  few 
acres,  half  cleared  and  unthrifty,  were  to 
be  found.  It  is  mentioned  but  once  in 
the  records  of  the  Colonies,  and  that  at  a 
time  when  every  place,  by  the  irresistible 
force  of  circumstances,  offered  some  gift 
to  the  new-born  nation,  if  any  good  thing 
it  possessed.  During  the  Revolution,  one 
volunteer  from  Oskawask  distinguished 
himself  in  the  battle  of  Guilford  Court 
House.     His  name  was  Slyme,  sir. 

"  That  is  all  I  know  about  the  history  of 
our  village  for  two  hundred  years. 

"  Even  its  name  was  almost  lost ;  for,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  the 
citizens  of  Northbrook,  ten  miles  from 
here,  called  the  wretched,  decayed,  tum- 


g2       GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

ble-down  place  '  Puckertown,'  in  deris- 
ion." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  the  prosperity  of 
Oskawask  is  so  recent,  Mr.  Slyme?" 

"  Nothing  is  impossible  in  America,  Mr. 
Livingstone,  as  you  and  I  know,  sir. 
When  this  century  was  half  used  up,  my 
father's  life  had  been  more  than  half  used 
up  in  the  hopeless  struggle  to  win  a  liveli- 
hood from  this  leachy  soil.  He  was  gray 
and  worn  before  his  time  and  lived  with 
my  mother  and  his  grown-up  sons  in  a 
wretched  little  cottage  which  I  shall  take 
pride  in  pointing  out  to  you.  But  he  was 
a  descendant  of  the  Revolutionary  soldier. 
He  would  sit  and  brood  through  the  long 
evenings,  trying  to  contrive  some  better- 
ment for  his  large  family. 

"  One  evening  a  stranger  applied  to  him 
to  be  taken  in  for  the  night.  One  more 
in  the  crowded  little  hut " 

''  Oh  !  Oh  !"  I  objected  ;  but  no  matter; 
"  hut  "  sounded  more  story -like. 

'*  One  more  or  less — it  made  no  differ- 
ence.    He  was  received. 

'*  As  this  impoverished  family  sat  about 
the  wood  fire,  the  old  lady — (I  beg  pardon, 
sir;  but  the  story  has  been  told  so  often 
that  I  fall   into  the  habit  of   speaking  as 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  pj 

others  do) — my  good  mother  raised  her 
eyes  from  her  sewing  and  looked  intently 
at  the  elegant  coat  worn  by  our  guest. 

"  The  next  morning  our  guest  went  on 
his  way  early.  I  remember  it  perfectly, — 
how  he  stood  at  the  gate  ready  to  mount 
his  horse,  and  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

'' '  How  much  do  I  owe  you  for  the 
lodging,  my  friend  ?'  he  asked. 

"  *  Nothing,  sir,'  said  my  father  proudly. 

"  Then  my  mother  stepped  up,  and  said 
she  : 

" '  Will  you  kindly  give  me  one  of  the 
buttons  off  of  your  coat  ?' 

"  My  father  didn't  like  that. 

"  '  Oh,  certainly  !'  said  the  stranger,  and 
took  out  his  scissors " 

"  Knife,"  I  suggested. 

"  Of  course  !  took  out  his  knife. 

"  '  I  have  scissors  right  here,  sir,'  spoke 
up  my  mother  ;  and  before  you  could  say 
Jack  Robinson  she  cut  off  a  pocket  but- 
ton, where  it  didn't  matter  much,  did  it, 
Horace  .^" 

''  Not  at  all,  thank  you,"  I  absent- 
mindedly  replied.  My  thoughts  had  be- 
gun to  wander  from  this  familiar  tale. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Penman,  you  were  the  stran- 
ger,   then?"    Livingstone    courteously   in- 

1 8 


g4       GRAY:  AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

quired ;  and,  receiving  an  affirmative 
answer,  continued  :  ''  I  congratulate  you 
upon  your  good  fortune.  It  is  your  for- 
tune, is  it  not,  to  be  present  when  interest- 
ing things  happen  ?  And  you  certainly 
have  the  happy  faculty  of  enjoying  and 
appreciating  them.  But  forgive  me,  Mr. 
Slyme,  and  please  continue  the  story." 

**  Mr.  Horace  Penman  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  away " 

Livingstone  interrupted  with,  "  What 
became  of  that  horse,  Mr.  Penman?" 

It  was  a  rather  odd  question,  but  the 
answer  was  given  in  good  faith  :  "  The 
brute  became  so  vicious  from  that  day 
that  I  had  to  sell  him." 

But  Samuel  Slyme  was  not  the  man  to 
be  cheated  out  of  a  privilege.  His  story 
"  had  an  end  as  well  as  a  beginning,"  he 
said,  with  an  effort  to  appear  sprightly  ; 
and  then  continued  : — 

''  My  father  began  to  expostulate : 
'  Why,  really,  Saray  !'  said  he.  But  my 
mother  cut  him  short. 

'' '  Jonathan,'  she  said,  *  see  here.  This 
button  that  looks  so  fine  is  nothing  but 
wood  covered  with  cloth.  Dear  me,  I 
can  do  that,  and  Grace  and  Gertrude  can 
help.' 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  gs 

"  Pretty  soon  my  mother  had  the 
neighbors  in,  to  help  cover  buttons,  and 
my  father,  who  was  a  natural  born 
mechanic,  like  all  New  Englanders,  sold 
his  farm  and  put  up  a  little  mill  to  do 
the  same  thing  by  water-power. 

*'  The  business  was  profitable,  sir, — 
enormously  profitable.  The  whole  neigh- 
borhood engaged  in  it,  but  my  father  had 
the  best  patent,  and  they  all  had  to  fall  in 
line  behind  him. 

"  Then  the  war  broke  out.  Half  a 
million  of  men  to  be  furnished  with 
uniforms.  My  father  got  the  contract 
for  cloth-covered  buttons." 

*'  I  never  did  quite  understand  that, 
Samuel,"  I  observed.  "  I  was  under  the 
impression  that  our  soldiers  were  supplied 
with  metal  buttons.  Certainly  all  I  ever 
saw  were  metal." 

"  Horace,"  said  the  manufacturer,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  my  arm,  his  manner 
suddenly  becoming  almost  unpleasantly 
familiar  and  insinuating,  "  Horace,  if  our 
gallant  army  did  not  use  those  buttons, — 
I  say,  if  those  buttons  were  never  used, 
or,  for  that  matter,  never  wanted — that 
did  not  concern  Slyme  &  Son,  and  it  did 
not   concern   the   congressman   from   our 


gS      GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

district,  I  guess.  Those  buttons  were 
made  and  sold  at  a  rattling  good  figure 
and  paid  for  in  mighty  good  money. 
That's  all  it  concerned  us  to  know,  wasn't 
it  ?  What  is  the  consequence,  sir  ?" 
(Here  the  speaker  became  eloquent  with- 
out affectation,  and  pointed  to  the  evi- 
dences of  prosperity  which  surrounded 
him.)  '•'■  The  consequence  is  a  magnificent 
home  industry  ;  two  thousand  laboring 
men  and  women  furnished  with  employ- 
ment at  a  spot  where  two  dozen  couldn't 
have  got  a  living  before  !  That's  what  I 
call  out-and-ovit,  uncompromising  and 
beneficent  protection  of  American  indus- 
tries ! 

"  Yes,  sir  !  With  that  start  the  thing 
went  on  growing.  Mill  hands  flocked  in 
from  all  quarters.  We  began  to  make 
our  own  cloth,  and  then  we  went  on  to 
make  almost  everything. 

"  Look  up  and  down  this  street,  Mr. 
Livingstone,  sir !  The  owners  of  these 
comfortable  houses  owe  their  fortunes  to 
cloth-covered  buttons  ! 

"■  This  town  is  the  creation  of  my  father. 
Even  his  critics  acknowledge  as  much. 
Such  as  it  is,  he  made  it  and  impressed 
his  character  upon  it,  and  fixed  that  char- 


MR,   PENMAN'S    VERSION  97 

acter  forever  by  his  will.  All  the  princi- 
pal public  institutions  here — the  library, 
the  academy,  the — Oh,  everything, — he 
created  by  the  provisions  of  his  will,  and 
by  the  same  will  he  regulates  them  to-day. 
So  the  critics  call  it  '  Willtown,'  and  say  : 

There  was  a  man  who  owned  a  mill  ; 
And  when  he  died  he  left  a  will. 
The  mill,  I  hear,  is  working  still  ; 
The  will,  I  fear,  is  working  ill. 

''  Foolish  critics,  Mr.  Livingstone  !  Sen- 
timental vermin,  sir,  who  pretend  they 
don't  like  to  do  everything  factory -shape, 
to  the  sound  of  a  bell !" 

"  They  might  run  away  from  your  pro- 
tected industry,  and  protect  their  idle- 
ness in  some  more  congenial  clime," 
Livingstone  suggested. 

'' '  Protect  their  idleness  !'  Ha  !  Ha  ! 
Well  put,  Mr.  Livingstone,  sir !"  said 
Slyme,  falling  again  into  his  nervously 
polite  manner.  "  But  I  promised  that  my 
story  should  have  an  end,  sir.  Here  it  is. 
'  How  old  is  our  village  ?' — In  one  sense, 
as  old  as  the  discovery  of  America  ;  in 
another,  as  old  as  the  Revolution  ;  in 
another,  as  old  as  the  cloth-covered  but- 
ton industry.  But  here  we  are  at  the 
library.     My  father  endowed  that,  sir." 


98      GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

After  early  supper  that  evening  the 
same  trio  were  smiling  oftener  and  using 
shorter  sentences,  for  the  sake  of  the 
ladies,  in  the  elegant  new  drawing-room 
of  the  elegant  new  Slyme  mansion. 

The  ladies.  Misses  Grace  and  Gertrude 
Slyme,  we  need  no  introduction  to,  for 
we  have  met  them  before,  and  in  appear- 
ance they  have  changed  very  little  in  the 
last  twenty-eight  years.  Twenty  years 
before  they  had  been  young  ladies ;  in 
1883  they  were  still  young  ladies.  They 
had  been  too  happy,  in  their  own  gentle 
way,  to  grow  old.  They  had  not  feared 
the  work  of  Time,  nor  peered  into  their 
mirrors  to  discover  signs  of  that  de- 
stroyer's yearly  and  daily  and  hourly 
visits  ;  so  that  Time,  finding  them  always 
"  cheerful  without  mirth,"  and  quite  un- 
spoiled by  ''  mighty  passions  and  so 
forth,"  had  really  not  harmed  them,  but 
only  added  a  trifle  of  roundness  to  their 
figures  and  a  grain  of  confidence  to  the 
modest  expression  of  their  faces. 

So  at  least  I  thought,  and  had  been 
thinking  year  after  year.  Is  it  not  true 
that  the  longer  one  is  able  to  entertain  a 
conviction,  the  more  likely  that  is  to  be 
well  grounded  ? 


MR.    PENMAN'S    VERSION  Qp 

Withdrawn  somewhat  from  the  blaze  of 
light  which  was  emitted  from  the  many 
burners  of  the  sparkling  glass  chandelier, 
these  3' oung  ladies  and  I  were  conversing 
with  that  freedom  and  good  understand- 
ing which  is  the  privilege  of  accepted, 
requited,  acknowledged  and  then  thor- 
oughly tested  affection.. 

For  twenty  years  these  young  ladies 
had  continued  to  share  and  to  reciprocate, 
equally  and  impartially,  the  sentiments 
and  attentions  of  their  lover.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  say  whether  they  or  I 
cared  less  to  know  with  certainty  which 
one  would  become  Mrs.  Penman  when 
the  time  came. 

These  three  lovers  (one  has  to  use  this 
word  to  convey  the  proper  idea,  although 
it  is  a  shade  too  warm  to  convey  the 
exact  idea  in  this  case),  now  exchanging 
confidences  in  an  undertone,  now  listening 
to  or  joining  in  the  conversation  which 
was  being  kept  up  between  the  master  of 
the  house  and  Mr.  Livingstone,  were 
seated  under  the  full-length  portrait  of 
the  deceased  Jonathan  Slyme.  Samuel 
stood  with  his  back  turned  to  the  white 
marble  fireplace  ;  for,  although  there  had 
not  been  a  fire  in  that  particular  grate  for 


lOO     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

a  month,  it  struck  him  as  a  genial-looking 
position  for  the  host  to  take  up.  Living- 
stone sat  in  an  easy-chair,  facing  him  and 
evidently  much  interested  in  what  he  was 
saying. 

"  Your  father  left  a  large  amount  to  the 
school — or  college,  is  it  ? — I  understood 
you  to  say  this  morning." 

'*  A  cool  three  hundred  thousand,  Mr. 
Livingstone.  Just  so  much  taken  out  of 
legitimate  business.  On  educational  top- 
ics I  entertain  positive  ideas,  sir.  I  value 
book-learning  and  appreciate  the  advan- 
tage that  an  educated  man  has  in  many  of 
the  walks  of  life  over  one  wdio  is  unedu- 
cated. Still,  I  believe  that  an}^  successful 
business  man  is  an  educated  man.  He 
may  know  nothing  about  Greek ;  never- 
theless he  is  a  professor  of  his  business.  I 
think  a  man  who  understands  his  trade,  is 
as  much  entitled  to  the  title  of  professor  as 
a  teacher  in  a  college.  The  college  profes- 
sor could  not  build  a  sloop,  a  house,  or  a 
steam  engine  if  his  life  depended  on  it. 
The  great  practical  problem  of  life  is, 
how  to  get  on.  Any  man  who  has  solved 
that  problem  is  a  professor.  If  I  want  to 
consult  anyone  about  financial  matters,  I 
go  to  Professor  Sharper,  of  the  Mechanic's 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  10 1 

bank ;  if  I  want  to  learn  anything  about 
chemistry,  I  go  to  Professor  Litmus,  of 
the  Slyme  Seminary  ;  but  when  I  want  a 
house  built  I  talk  it  over  with  Professor 
Sim  Ferris,  a  negro,  who  can  neither  read 
nor  write,  but  understands  his  own  busi- 
ness thoroughly." 

Grace  leaned  forward  and  in  an  under- 
tone said  to  me :  '*  Tell  us  about  our 
sweet  nephew." 

"  Yes,  brother  Horace,  tell  us  about  that 
dear  Winthrop  Eaton,"  echoed  Gertrude. 

"  Just  think,  brother  Horace,  he  has  not 
been  to  see  us  for  three  months  ;  and  he 
knows  we  think  he  is  a  sweet  fellow " 

''  A  sweet  fellow,"  said  Gertrude  at  the 
same  instant.  Both  speaking  at  once,  in 
this  manner,  the  sweetness  seemed  very 
sweet  indeed. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  each  of  the  ladies 
addressed  me  as  "  brother."  That  was  as 
much  as  to  say.  When  the  time  comes, 
marry  my  sister  Gertrude — or  Grace,  as 
the  case  happened  to  be.  Could  anything 
more  considerate  be  imagined  ? 

''  We  fear  Winthrop's  wife  is  a  great 
care  to  him,"  said  Grace. 

"  Yes,  we  fear  he  married  too  young," 
said  Gertrude,  with  a  sigh. 


I02     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Grace  sighed  also,  and  repeated,  "  too 
young ;"  and  I  added  with  conviction  that 
it  was  a  shame,  and  that  the  reckless 
young  pair  were  being  punished  for  their 
improvident  haste. 

After  uttering  this  rather  harsh  senti- 
ment I  paused,  for  my  attention  was 
drawn  to  what  the  other  two  gentlemen 
were  saying. 

''  Yes,  I  can  readily  understand  that," 
Livingstone  observed.  ''  Your  position 
here  is  very  exceptional.  Oskawask  is,  in 
effect,  what  the  English  call  a  *  pocket 
Borough,' — that  is,  you  might  use  your 
overwhelming  influence  here  for  political 
purposes,  if  you  saw  fit.". 

"  Precisely,  sir  !  That  is  the  case  more 
— er — more  truly  and  really  than  I  should 
care  to  have  everybody  know.  Between 
you  and  me,  Mr.  Livingstone,  I  can  defeat 
or  elect  any  man  Avho  is  running  for  office 
in  this  part  of  the  State.  The  political 
parties  are  pretty  evenly  balanced  and  the 
vote  is  manageable.  How  much  do  you 
suppose  these  naturalized  factory -hands — 
these  thousands  of  Irish  and  Germans  and 
French  and  Italians — and  what  not — care 
for  party  principles  ?  I  needn't  go  into 
the   subject,    sir,  but   I    guess   it's   pretty 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION      .        lOJ 

plain  that  if  I  get  my  back  up  and  say — 
in  one  way  or  another — using  arguments 
that  they  understand,  sir,  and  the  only 
kind  they  do  understand,  because  these 
arguments  touch  their  own  pockets  and 
their  own  wages  and  they  can  buy  meat 
and  beer  with  these  arguments  : — if  I  say, 
Elect   this  man   and   bounce  that  man,   I 

guess  the   result  will   be   according ! 

Not  that  I  have  cared  any  to  do  it  and  not 

that   I   do  care  ;  but  if    I  did ."     He 

left  the  sentence  unfinished  so  that  his 
guest  might  fill  in  the  blank  with  a  series 
of  pleasing  mental  pictures :  Samuel 
Slyme,  Esq.,  as  Governor ;  the  same,  as 
Senator  ;  the  same,  as  President. 

''  Now  that  we  are  speaking  so  frankly, 
as  one  man-of-the-world  to  another",  re- 
sponded Livingstone,  "  it  simmers  down 
to  this :  that  the  man  who  controls  the 
manufacturing  interests  here,  controls  the 
vote." 

''  Exactly  so,  exactly  so,  Mr.  Living- 
stone. That's  the  fact  nobody  can  get 
around.  I  have  worked  hard  in  my  life, 
sir,  and  this  is  my  reward.  '  The  laborer 
is  worthy  of  his  hire,'  I  take  it.  I  don't 
know,  I  don't  know,"  he  continued,  as 
though  a  question  not  in  the  manufactur- 


I04     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

ing  line  was  full  of  difficulty,  "  I  don't 
know  but  rU  come  forward  myself  one  of 
these  days.  I've  been  thinking  it  over 
lately,  and  it  seems  high  time  I  made 
myself  felt  for  all  I'm  worth — politically, 
I  mean.  Who  knows  what  ma}^  happen 
if  I  wait  too  long  ?  I  never  had  any  fears 
until  I  began  to  think  of  coming  forward 
myself.  Who  knows  but  these  sneaking 
politicians  might  contrive  to  steal  my 
rights !  One  can  never  tell  what  they'll 
be  up  to  next.  Why,  lately  there's  been 
a  fellow  here — a  smooth-spoken  fellow, 
who  went  around  among  the  workmen, 
but  wore  good  clothes  and  lived  in  style 
himself — what  was  his  name  ?  Brown  ? 
Gray  ?  Gray,  that's  it.  I  have  my  own 
sources  of  information,  Mr.  Livingstone, 
and  I'd  be  willing  to  swear  that  that  man 
meant  mischief.  He  was  up  to  some- 
thing, or  why  did  he  take  so  much  in- 
terest in  my  affairs  and  the  way  I  stood 
with  the  people  here  ?  Besides,  the  man 
looked  like  a  snake." 

''  Gray  ?"  I  called  across  the  room. 
There  was  something  in  this  description 
which  struck  me.  "  Did  you  say  his 
name  was  Gra}^  Samuel  ?" 

''  Yes,  we  saw  him,"  murmured  Grace 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  IO3 

at   my   side,    ''and  we   thought   he   must 
have  cold  hands,  didn't  we,  sister?" 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Livingstone,  where 
is  your  Gray  now  ?"  I  inquired.  ''  I  have 
not  seen  him  in  Oldhaven  lately." 

'*  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied 
Livingstone  indifferently.  ''  He  asked  for 
a  little  vacation  ;  and  he  has  been  doing 
so  much  for  me — getting  my  house  ready 
and  all  that,  you  know — that  I  let  him  off 
willingly  for  a  fortnight." 

*'  If  he  is  connected  with  you  in  any 
way,  Mr.  Livingstone,  sir,"  said  Samuel 
hurriedly,  "  I  beg  your  pardon  and  take 
it  all  back,  sir,  I  am  sure." 

''No  harm  done,"  said  Livingstone 
rather  coldly  ;  and  then  rising  and  stand- 
ing before  Samuel  Slyme,  who  looked  a 
very  poor  figure  in  comparison,  he  con- 
tinued :  "  If  this  person  was  my  Gray,  I 
should  not  take  anything  said  against  him 
as  applying  to  myself  in  the  remotest 
degree." 

Livingstone  evidently  understood  the 
man  he  had  to  deal  with.  If  he  had  ex- 
pressed the  least  regret  for  the  annoyance 
which  his  agent  had  caused  the  owner  of 
Oskawask,  that  local  grandee  would  have 
felt  himself  wronged.     As  it  was,  Samuel 


Io6    GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Slyme  again  apologized  for  a  fault  he  had 
not  committed,  and,  bringing  the  conver- 
sation once  more  to  the  subject  of  his  own 
political  aspirations,  grew  surprisingly 
confidential  in  the  course  of  the  evening. 
It  was  not  an  edifying  conversation,  but 
for  all  that  it  seemed  to  interest  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone, who  consented,  after  much 
urging,  to  remain  for  a  day  or  two  in 
order  to  examine  the  field  thoroughly, 
and  so  to  advise  more  intelligently. 


|N    the    spring   of    1885    Samuel 
Slyme  failed. 

Oskawask  was  shaken  as  by 
an  earthquake  ;  all  western  Mas- 
sachusetts sensibly  trembled  ;  the  country 
at  large  and  manufacturing  circles  abroad 
were  promptly  informed  of  it.  If  the 
love  of  notoriety  is  the  passion  of  our  age, 
as  very  respectable  observers  gravely 
assure  us,  then  this  was  the  hour  of 
Samuel's  triumph. 

Poor  fellow  !  he  did  not  see  it  in  that 
light.  To  him  it  did  not  seem  a  brilliant 
and  sensational  event :  it  was  not  to  him 
sufficiently  sudden  and  unexpected  for 
that.  Losses,  losses,  one  after  the  other 
during  the  two  years  since  we  last  saw 
him, — the  sum  of  these  losses  seemed  the 
sum  total  of  the  event  to  him. 

Such  losses,  —  such  besetting  evil  for- 
tune,— surely  no  experienced  and,  if  any- 
thing, over-cautious  manufacturer  ever  be- 
fore had  to  contend   against.     Industries 


I08    GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

the  most  meritorious,  investments  the 
most  approved,  securities  the  most  secure, 
dissolved  and  became  thin  air  the  moment 
he  touched  them.  Banks  failed,  corres- 
pondents forged  and  ran  away,  real-estate 
depreciated,  whichever  way  he  turned. 

'*  I  never  had  a  bit  of  luck,"  said  Samuel, 
''  since  I  took  to  politics  and  since  that 
Gray  set  the  '  hands  '  against  me." 

"  That  was  the  time  I  brought  Living- 
stone here  and  introduced  him  to  you,"  I 
said,  with  vague  misgiving. 

''  Oh,  Mr.  Livingstone  is  another  mat- 
ter!  He  has  stood  behind  me  all  this 
time  and  helped  me.  Why,  do  you  know, 
Horace,  he  must  have  almost  ruined  him- 
self for  me.  He  has  bought  all  the  clain^ 
against  me  and  holds  them  to-day.  They 
are  not  worth  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar, 
and  he  knows  it;  but  instead  of  selling 
out  while  my  credit  was  good  and  he 
could  have  got  what  he  paid,  he  holds 
them,  sir,  and  never  presses  me !" 

I  did  not  dispute  any  part  of  this  state- 
ment nor  attempt  to  warn  the  victim  when 
it  was  already  too  late.  Before  ever  a 
suggestion  of  these  facts  had  come  to  me, 
the  thing  had  been  done  and  the  fact  be- 
come unalterable.      It   remained   only   to 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  lO^ 

make  the  most  of  the  alleged  good  dis- 
position of  Samuel's  principal  creditor 
in  order  to  save  something  from  the 
wreck.  To  this  end  I  strove,  and  my 
attempt  was  so  far  successful  that  Samuel 
was  appointed,  by  the  directors  of  a  new 
company  which  was  formed  to  carry  on 
the  business  of  Slyme  &  Son,  general 
manager.  President  of  the  new  company, 
was  Donald  Livingstone,  Esquire  ;  his 
associates  being  various  little  great  men 
of  the  neighborhood  whose  connection 
with  the  business  was  scarcely  more  than 
nominal. 

In  the  matter  of  this  appointment,  as  in 
all  his  public  acts  after  the  great  failure 
became  known,  Livingstone  showed  a 
magnanimous  spirit  which  won  him  praise 
from  all  sides.  The  extent  of  the  pecu- 
niary sacrifice  which  he  made  in  accepting 
this  arrangement  was  not  concealed.  That 
brought  him  nothing  but  credit.  The 
readiness  with  which  he  came  forward  to 
secure  to  thousands  of  operatives  con- 
tinued employment,  won  the  hearts  of  the 
poor  and  the  hearts  of  the  friends  of  the 
poor, — that  is  to  say,  of  everybody.  His 
was  the  reward  of  the  man  who  is  gener- 
ous and  prosperous. 

19 


no     GRA  Y:  AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

As  for  certain  rumors,  doubtless  invent- 
ed by  malicious  persons,  about  an  appear- 
ance of  system  and  method  in  the  suc- 
cessive blows  which  had  overturned  the 
house  of  Slyme  &  Son,  as  though  they 
could  not  have  been  the  work  of  chance 
but  must  have  been  planned  by  some 
selfish  and  diabolical  agency,  these  quickly 
fell  to  the  ground.  Who  could  have  found 
his  own  advantage  in  such  an  attack  ? 
That  was  a  question  nobody  could  answer ; 
and  so  rumor  subsided. 

In  fact  rumor  had  other  material  to  feed 
upon.  It  began  to  be  whispered  that, 
far  from  there  being  less  work  done  at  the 
mills  under  the  new  company,  there  was 
to  be  more.  The  buildings  were  to  be  en- 
larged ;  new  machinery  had  been  ordered  ; 
an  era  of  greater  prosperity  was  to  begin 
in  Oskawask. 

Would  Donald  Livingstone  consent  to 
exchange  the  ''Esquire"  at  the  end  of  his 
name  for  a  "  Senator "  to  be  written 
before  it?  He  had  only  to  say  the 
word. 

But  while  it  seemed  well  enough  for 
Samuel  Slyme,  the  fallen  duke  of  Oska- 
wask, to  accept  service  under  the  usurper, 
I  would  not  consent  to  see  the  sisters  de- 


MR.    PENMAN'S    VERSION  III 

pendent  upon  a  dependent.  Hence  a 
momentous  decision. 

After  twenty  years  of  more  or  less 
active  courtship,  I  resolved  to  marry  the 
sisters  immediately. 

Promptly,  yet  without  unbecoming 
haste,  a  month  being  allowed  to  elapse 
between  the  announcement  and  the  cere- 
mony, this  resolution  was  carried  into 
effect. 

On  the  morning  of  a  warm  summer's  day, 
the  front  room  on  the  second  floor  of  a 
small,  aristocratic  boarding  house  not  far 
from  the  Oldhaven  green,  was  the  scene 
of  confusion, — that  is,  so  much  confusion 
as  could  be  found  in  the  apartments  of 
two  quiet  ladies.  The  ladies  were  array- 
ing themselves  for  their  wedding,  which 
was  to  take  place  before  noon.  The  pro- 
cess of  decoration  advanced  impartially. 
It  is  true  that  Gertrude's  hair  was  done  a 
moment  before  Grace's  ;  but  seeing  this, 
Gertrude  would  not  allow  her  maid  to 
proceed  to  other  matters  before  Grace's 
maid  had  caught  up.  Then  there  was  an 
intermission  of  five  minutes  for  the  sisters 
to  intertwine  arms  and  kiss  each  other 
upon  the  cheek  and  throat  and  wherever 
that  could  be  done  without  disarranging 


112     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

things.      And    so    on    until    all   was    fin- 
ished. 

Full  half  an  hour  before  the  appointed 
time,  these  two  sisters  were  waiting  in  the 
parlor,  caressing  one  another  as  well  as 
that  can  be  done  in  tight  new  sleeves,  and 
patiently  expecting  the  few  invited  guests. 
These  arrived  duly  and  all  drove  together 
to  the  pretty  Episcopal  church.  That  was 
surely  a  friendly  way  to  do  such  a  thing. 

All  entering  the  church  together,  Ave 
proceeded  at  once  to  the  altar.  Mr.  Win- 
throp  Eaton,  Mr.  Samuel  Slyme  and  I 
were  the  only  gentlemen  present.  The 
ladies  were,  Mrs.  Eaton  and  the  heroines 
of  the  occasion.  During  the  service  the 
two  sisters,  dressed  in  gowns  which  were 
exactly  alike,  stood  so  near  together  that 
one  could  not  tell  which  was  the  bride. 
•  When  I  repeated :  "  I,  Horace,  take 
thee,  Gertrude,"  Mrs.  Eaton  added  in  a 
loud  whisper  :  ''  And  Grace  "  —  whereat 
we  all  laughed. 

After  the  ceremony  all  repaired  to  Mrs. 
Eaton's  house  to  breakfast. 

''Where  are"  you  going?"  asked  Win- 
throp. 

"  Nowhere  !" 

But  Mrs.  Eaton  insisted  that  the  happy 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  II 3 

pair  should  go  away  for  at  least  twenty- 
four  hours ;  and  after  much  persuasion  we 
consented. 

On  the  following  day  we  returned,  and 
then  started  off  on  a  sensible  wedding-trip, 
taking  Grace  with  us.  After  a  very  pleas- 
ant journey  we  returned  and  settled  down. 
How  cheerful  my  old  home  became ! 
Both  Grace  and  Gertrude  continued,  and 
to  this  day  continue  (the  heavens  be 
praised  !)  to  call  me  "brother." 

Through  this  marriage  I  came  to  be 
very  intimately  connected  with  VVinthrop 
Eaton,  whose  name  has  been  several  times 
mentioned  in  the  foregoing  pages.  He  is 
the  son  of  Israel  Slyme  and  Lilly  Lincoln, 
and  was  adopted  and  brought  up  by  John 
Eaton.  John  Eaton  was,  until  his  death 
in  1873,  my  dear  friend.  Now  family  ties 
were  added  to  the  bond  of  old  acquain- 
tance, Winthrop  being  Gertrude's  nephew. 
His  father,  Israel,  had  deserted  his  family 
immediately  after  my  first  visit  at  Oska- 
wask,  and  his  fate  has  remained  a  m3'stery 
to  this  day. 

I  say  that  his  fate  remains  a  mystery  ; 
but  Mrs.  Winthrop  Eaton  has  maintained 
the  contrary,  as  the  reader  will  presently 
see. 


114     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

The  foregoing  chapters  were  originally 
written  at  Mrs.  Eaton's  request.  She  as- 
sured me  that  it  had  become  of  vital  im- 
portance to  her  and  to  her  husband  that 
the  mystery  above  referred  to  should  be 
cleared  up,  laid  great  stress  upon  the  un- 
deniable resemblance  between  Donald  Liv- 
ingstone and  her  husband,  and  urged  me, 
as  the  oldest  family  friend,  to  set  down 
what  I  knew  from  my  own  experience 
about  Israel  and  Mr.  Livingstone.  That  I 
accordingly  did,  without  addition  or  dimi- 
nution. 

Mrs.  Eaton,  I  should  observe  here,  is  a 
woman  of  singular  beauty  and  unnatural 
intellectual  brilliancy.  Her  father  was 
the  Rev.  James  Addison,  an  Episcopal 
minister,  settled  in  a  small  town  near  Old- 
haven.  Winthrop  met  her  at  an  age  when 
he  should  have  had  no  thought  of  mar- 
riage, was  completely  fascinated,  and  with 
improvident  haste  took  her  to  live  with 
him  at  "  Westwood." 

Of  all  the  pretty  places  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Oldhaven,  *'  Westwood  "  is,  in  my 
opinion,  the  most  charming.  Be  pleased 
to  imagine  the  gently  sloping  hill-side, 
from  all  points  of  which  the  view  ranges 
over  a  cultivated  plain,  in  the  foreground 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  II 5 

broken  here  and  there  by  comfortable  Kt- 
tle  houses  and  by  the  course  of  a  small 
river  with  wooded  banks  ;  while  far  away 
the  towers  and  steeples  and  loftier  build- 
ings of  the  city  display  their  summits 
above  the  leafy  covering  of  elm  trees,  like 
an  architectural  crop  just  beginning  to 
spring  up  and  promising  to  grow  into  a 
town  in  the  course  of  a  summer. 

This  hill-side  Winthrop  Eaton  called  his 
''  farm  ;"  and  one  of  the  chief  allurements 
of  the  place  was  that  he  did  treat  it  as  a 
farm.  Not  fine  and  pretentious  and  meant 
for  show,  like  a  villa,  it  was  generous  and 
homelike  and  meant  for  use  and  comforta- 
ble living.  Yet  with  exquisite  taste  Win- 
throp had  known  how  to  add  touches  of 
art,  where  these  would  serve  to  heighten 
the  charm  of  naturalness.  The  house  it- 
self, built  of  warm-colored,  brown  stones 
which  had  been  selected  from  that  abun- 
dant supply  which  the  fields  of  ''  West- 
wood  "  afforded,  vine-covered  and  sur- 
rounded by  wide  verandas,  was  not  the 
least  agreeable   feature  in  the  lafidscape. 

But,  in  spite  of  its  southern  exposure, 
there  was  always  a  shadow  covering  every 
foot  of  the  territory  of  "  Westwood." 
Winthrop  had  inherited  it  from  the  good- 


Il6    GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

natured  John  Eaton  with  that  encum- 
brance which  good-nature  is  so  prone  to 
inflict — debt. 

Another  shadow  was  there  also,  for 
which  John  Eaton  was  in  no  way  responsi- 
ble. The  old  portrait  of  Israel-for-Israel 
hung  in  the  library.  It  was  the  visible 
reminder  of  a  family  disgrace ;  none  the 
less  Winthrop  valued  it,  because  it  was 
said  to  resemble  his  father,  Israel,  whom 
he  had  never  seen. 

Such  was  the  home  from  which  young 
Winthrop  Eaton  was  striving  to  lift  the 
double  shadow  of  debt  and  of  disgrace 
when  he  married  Miss  Addison.  Since 
that  event  the  husband  has  been  a  plod- 
ding worker  and  the  wife  one  of  the  lead- 
ers of  Oldhaven  society,  famous  for  her 
eccentricity. 

Mrs.  Eaton's  request  was  for  facts  con- 
cerning Israel  and  Livingstone  which  had 
fallen  within  my  own  experience  and  ob- 
servation. Having  stated  these,  my  task 
is  ended. 


Part  II.— By  Mrs.    WINTHROP   EATON 


CHAPTER  I 


T  my  urgent  request  Mr.  Hor- 
ace Penman  consented  to  write 
down  his  personal  recollections 
of  my  husband's  father,  Israel 
Slyme,  as  he  used  to  be  called,  or  Donald 
Livingstone,  as  he  is  to-day  called.  I 
have  just  read  those  recollections  and  I 
am  greatly  disappointed. 

Horace  Penman  is  a  dear,  good  old 
gentleman,  and  I  have  as  much  respect 
for  him  as  for  anyone ;  but  he  has  a  fool- 
ish dislike  for  putting  two  and  two  to- 
gether. He  has  restricted  himself  to  the 
bare  facts,  and  declined  to  draw  the  obvi- 
ous conclusions.  He  has  even  refused  to 
avail  himself  of  information  derived  from 
trustworthy  persons — from  his  wife,  from 
Winthrop's  foster-father,  John  Eaton,  and 
others  —  as  though  fearing  to  trust  any- 
thing except  his  own  immediate  observa- 
tion.    It   might  almost  seem  that  he    has 


II 8    GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

it  in  mind  to  shake  my  belief  in  the  iden- 
tity of  Israel  and  Livingstone.  But  if  I 
had  not  one  atom  of  proof,  I  should  know 
what  this  monster  of  selfishness  really  is. 
Can  I  not  read  his  story  in  his  face  ? 

As  for  its  being  wiser  not  to  stir  up  the 
past,  as  Mr.  Penman  suggested  \/hen  I 
first  consulted  him,  that  is  a  good  rvile  for 
those  who  are  happy  in  the  present ;  but 
how  can  I,  with  this  burning  sense  of 
wrong,  remain  silent  ? 

The  whole  course  of  his  wickedness  is 
wonderfully  clear  to  me.  I  can  hardly 
explain  to  myself  this  distinctness  ;  and 
yet  I  could  as  easily  doubt  what  I  know 
of  my  own  life  as  doubt  any  portion  or 
particular  of  Israel's  life,  written  by  reve- 
lation upon  my  brain. 

My  poor  husband !  Proud,  sensitive, 
noble  Winthrop !  He  has  pledged  his  life 
to  redeem  the  faults  of  others,  while  I — I 
myself  am  a  chief  cause  of  his  suffering. 
I  added  the  burden  of  my  ungoverned 
ambition  and  of  my  exactions  to  the  load 
which  he  was  staggering  under.  That  I 
cannot  change.  My  impulses  I  cannot 
control ;  but  I  shall  compel  Donald  Living- 
stone to  be  just  to  his  own  flesh  and  blood. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  Up 

In  the  year  1855,  an  hour  or  so  before 
Mr.  Penman  rode  away  from  Oskawask, 
Lilly  Lincoln  and  Israel  were  walking 
across  the  fields  toward  the  home  of  the 
former.  Both  were  in  the  highest  spirits  : 
Lilly,  as  she  herself  said,  in  a  perfect  gale, 
Israel  singing  with  a  great,  booming 
voice. 

So  they  went,  hand  in  hand,  until  they 
could  no  longer  be  seen  from  the  house. 
Then  Lilly's  gayety  passed  all  bounds. 
She  danced  in  little  circles  about  Israel, 
seizing  him  every  now  and  then  by  the 
hand,  and  kissing  it  a  thousand  times ; 
then,  throwing  this  away  and  hanging 
about  his  neck,  she  kissed  his  cheeks  and 
eyes— too  light-hearted  to  touch  his  lips 
with  her  own. 

As  for  this  favored  young  man,  he  felt 
through  and  through  him  those  thrills  of 
love  consummated,  intoxicating  every 
sense  ;  that  devouring  passion  of  the  heart 
after  every  sense  has  been  gratified  ;  the 
glory  and  happiness  of  possession  —  not 
the  hunger  of  a  lover,  but  the  far  more 
perfect  and  universal  passion  of  the  ac- 
knowledged master  and  lord. 

Gloria !  sang  the  young  man's  heart, 
while  he  drank  of  the  being  of  this  woman 


I20     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

transfigured  by  love  ;  while  he  drank  in 
the  delicious  after-storm  air  as  in  great 
draughts  of  sparkling  wine  ;  while  he  felt 
tingling  at  his  finger-tips  and  racing 
through  his  arteries  the  abundant  streams 
of  a  strong  young  life,  now  perfect,  now 
blessed  and  complete. 

They  were  at  the  brow  of  a  hill,  or 
rather  the  side  of  a  vale,  which  was  still 
dark  and  cold,  being  unvisited  by  the  sun 
as  yet :  still  dark  and  cold  below,  where  a 
very  tiny  tributar}^  of  the  weedy  stream 
trickled  in  crystal  purity  beneath  leafless 
laurel  bushes. 

The  path  was  narrow  and  steep  and 
rough,  but  Lilly  danced  down  it,  whirling 
around  recklessly,  her  little  hands  lifted 
above  his  head,  her  eyes  flashing,  her 
cheeks  flushed  with  exquisite  pink,  and 
one  splendid  lock  of  golden  hair,  escaped 
from  confinement,  falling  like  a  serpent 
across  her  shoulder  and  into  her  bosom. 

With  all  this  wild  motion,  she  yet  kept 
very  close  to  Israel.  Her  warm  breath 
was  on  his  cheek  and  her  clasped  hands 
were  ready  to  descend  about  his  neck 
when  her  foot  dashed  against  a  projecting 
point  of  stone  and  she  fell  backwards. 
But,  quick  as  thought  Israel  had  seized 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  121 

her,  terrified  but  unhurt,  and  catching  her 
up  to  him  and  so  holding  her,  the  poor 
little  throbbing  heart  pressed  against  his 
own,  bearing  her  easily,  he  rushed  on- 
ward down  the  path. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  they  were  falling 
down,  down,  locked  in  each  other's  em- 
brace ;  and  she  closed  her  eyes  and  her 
heart  suddenly  ceased  beating  as  she 
awaited  the  end  of  their  descent — the 
terrible  instant  when  they  should  lie 
crushed  and  mangled  in  the  bed  of  the 
little  stream. 

The  swift  motion  ceased,  and  yet  she 
felt  no  pain.  Timidly  she  opened  her 
eyes  and  saw  that  she  was  still  in  her 
lover's  arms,  and  that  he  was  looking 
down  into  her  face  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  you  are  pale,  my  child !"  he 
exclaimed.     ''  Did  it  hurt  your  foot?" 

She  looked  with  a  shudder  from  him  to 
the  steep  path  along  which  they  had 
flown.  Then  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  un- 
polluted waters  within  reach  of  her  hand. 

"  Will  you  have  some  water?"  he  asked. 

Lilly  only  shook  her  head  for  reply, 
pressing  close  to  him  with  all  her 
strength.     Then  she    said  : 

''  Take    me  to  live  with   you.     Do  not 


122     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

take  me  home.  Away  from  you  I  am 
dead.     O,  take  me,  take  me  !" 

"  Are  you  not  happy,  dearest  Lilly  ? 
Are  you  not  happy  as  it  is?" 

She  put  her  hands  upon  his  mouth  and 
pushed  his  head  back  until  she  could  look 
into  his  face.  Then,  with  her  whole  soul 
shining  through  her  entreating  eyes,  and 
her  voice  vibrating  strangely,  she  cried  : 

''  Take  me  !  Take  me  !  Take  me  !  Are 
you  not  my  husband  ?" 

*'  Yes  ;  in  the  matter  of  love  for  you,  I 
am  certainly  your  husband.  What  do 
you  mean  by  this  ?  A  moment  ago  you 
were  as  happy  as  you  should  always  be. 
What  has  changed  you,  little  one  ?" 

"  You  love  me?" 

"  Yes :  have  I  not  told  you  so  many 
times?" 

"  Then  that  is  enough.  Then  am  I  not 
your  wife?" — putting  her  cheek  against 
his.     ''  Call  me  wife  !" 

"  Darling  little  lady,  am  I  not  kind  to 
you  ?     Do  you  not  love  me  f " 

"  Oh  !" — so  reproachfully,  yet  so  ten- 
derly spoken.  No  one  who  conceives 
how  that  was  uttered  will  judge  harshly 
poor  little  Lilly's  self-sacrifice.  ''  You  do 
love  me,  Israel.     I  have  never  doubted  it. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  1 23 

It  would  be  wicked — it  would  be  a  sin  to 
doubt  that.  You  did  not  mean  to  ask  me 
— what  I  thought  you  asked.  You  know 
— you  must  know.  Oh,  my  husband, 
think — or,  rather,  do  not  think — what  a 
creature  I  should  be  if  I  had  not  done  all 
because  I  worshipped  you — because  I 
adore  you.  You  are  m}^  god.  I  have  no 
will  but  your  will.  What  you  say  has 
taken  the  place  of  God's  word  to  me, 
because  I  have  no  life  apart  from  you. 
Forgive  me  if  I  have  loved  you  too 
much  !" 

Lilly's  eyes  were  streaming  and  her 
speech,  low  and  rapid,  poured  out  as 
naturally   as  her  tears. 

This  incense  of  her  blind  adoration 
ascended  to  the  nostrils  of  her  god,  and 
'must  have  been  grateful  to  his  sense  ;  for 
Israel  held  her  so  strictly  bound  in  his 
arms  that  this  tender  worshiper  gasped 
for  breath. 

For  a  moment  both  were  happy,  yet 
not  in  the  same  way. 

Then  Lilly  made  a  great  effort  and 
cheered  her  heart,  and  smiled  at  him 
through  her  tears.  Her  happiness  came 
over  her  as  a  flood  of  light  and  warmth. 

"  My    Superbness ! — Oh,    I    must    take 


124     GRA  Y:   AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

satisfaction,  gorgeous  being, — my  saint !" 
And  she  seized  his  face  almost  fiercely 
and  bit  his  cheek  just  above  the  peculiar 
little  mark.  "  There  ! — Poor  face,  did  it 
hurt  you  ?"  Then  she  covered  every  fea- 
ture with  quick,  burning  kisses,  returning 
with  preference  to  the  birth-mark. 

But,  Lilly,  do  you  notice  that  this  mark 
almost  vanishes  now  ?  It  is  so  faint  that 
one  could  scarcely  see  it.  There  must  be 
magic  in  your  kisses. 

Thus  Lilly  appealed  to  Israel's  love,  not 
without  effect ;  yet  he  did  not  answer 
according  to  her  wish. 

Then  she  called  up  past  scenes  of  pleas- 
ure, into  which  we  dare  not  intrude, — in 
which,  as  Israel  recalled  them  also,  she 
seemed  to  him  a  flower  quite  unlike  the 
lily,  yet  more  than  ever  desirable. 

Thus  she  appealed  to  his  selfishness, 
without  realizing  that  for  this  the  oppor- 
tunity had  passed  and  her  advantage  had 
been  sacrificed. 

The  birthmark  showed  very  distinctly 
again,  but  this  she  could  not  notice,  for  as 
a  last  appeal  she  hid  her  face  in  his  bosom 
and  whispered  something — a  secret  fear- 
fully kept  even  from  him  until  that  mo- 
ment. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  12^ 

No  man  born  of  woman  but  has  at  least 
an  impulse  of  pity  for  that  condition. 
Israel  kissed  her  tenderly  and  promised  : 
"  I  shall  openly  acknowledge  our  mar- 
riage to-morrow,  Lilly,  so  surely  as  I  am 
here  to  do  it." 

Thereupon  she  became  radiantly  happy. 
''  '  So  surely  as  you  are  here  !'  Why, 
nothing  can  happen  to  you,  my  magnifi- 
cence. To-morrow  !  I — Oh,  1  shall  be  so 
proud  !  .  .  .  .  Oh,  my  husband,  is  it  pos- 
sible ?  Tell  me  I  am  not  dreaming.  Tell 
me  I  shall  always  be  close,  next  to  you — 

always What   Avill    you    call    me? 

Say   it !     Call    me How    thoughtful 

and  sad  you  are,  sweet  face  !  .  .  .  .  Israel ! 
Are  you  angry  with  me,  darling?  Are 
you  angry  with  me  for  being  so  happy  ?" 

But  she  could  not  conquer  his  dark 
humor,  and  they  finished  the  way  in 
silence. 

Returning  alone,  Israel  paused  in  the 
glen  where  they  had  rested  together,  real- 
izing how  free  he  was  without  her. 

"Why,  I  could  as  easily  run  up  that 
path  alone  as  down  it  with  her,"  he  mut- 
tered. ''  If  she  were  only  a  different 
nature,  the  question  might  change.  If  she 
were  helpful,  or  even  independent. — But 

20 


126     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

how  can  I  carry  her  with  me  in  my  race 
against  the  world  for  the  first  place  in  the 
world  ?  Perhaps  I  might  do  that  and  yet 
win.  I  will  not  acknowledge  that  there 
is  anything  I  can  not  do.     But  after  I  had 

won,    she Oh,  she    would   not   be   a 

companion  for  me.  When  I  am  all  that  I 
feel  myself  able  to  become,  she  will  re- 
main little  Lilly  Lincoln.  I  can  make 
myself  what  I  please ;  but  she  would  not, 
could  not,  change.  The  more  perfect  and 
complete  my  success,  the  wider  would 
grow  the  breach  between  us.  She  would 
be  only  more  and  more,  as  time  went  on, 
an  incumbrance.  No  !  The  woman  fit  to 
share  my  whole  life  does  not  exist.  For 
this  part  of  it,  Lilly  :  and  it  is  true,  as  she 
said,  that  she  has  added  to  my  happiness 
in  this  part.  For  the  next  ten,  twenty 
years,  no  person,  woman  or  man,  can  share 
my  life  or  know  my  thoughts.  As  for 
Lilly — why,  she  would  be  unhappy  if  1 
kept  from  her  my  secret  thoughts,  and  if 
she  knew  my  secrets  they  would  kill  her. 
No,  I  say,  no  !     After  these  ten  or  twenty 

years    of     struggle ?      Why,,    then,    a 

woman  born  to  the  station  to  which  I 
shall  have  fought  my  way.  Then  some 
princess  who  is  now  unborn,  who  shall  be 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  12^ 

then  fresh  and  exquisite  as  Lilly  is  now — 
from  whom  1  may  draw  a  new  life  :  for  I 
shall  be  world-worn  and  tired  then.  Why 
then  I  shall  begin  to  live !  Everything 
near  me  then  shall  be,  must  be,  sparkling 
and  young,  to  warm  me  again.  Lilly  at 
that  time?  Lilly  would  be  forty — faded 
— a  poor,  faded  lily — a  stranger  to  my 
heart,  yet  holding  by  right  the  first  place 
in  my  life.  Lilly  would  point  backwards 
with  constant  reminder  to  my  needy, 
hateful  past.  She  would  remind  me  of 
how  much  more  ?  Of  what  I  had  done  ? 
No  one  shall  know  that  !  But  then  I  shall 
need  to  forget.  Then  I  shall  begin  to 
become  what  I  should  be  now,  if  I  had 
not  been  born  in  a  hovel.  I  curse  it,  and 
it  shall  be  cursed.  Curse  these  fools — 
these  country  simpletons !  Here  is  a 
great  big  world  with  men  in  it,  and 
sparrows,  and  toads.  And  I  have  a  few 
years  of  life,  and  my  whole  nature  cries 
out  for  all  the  good  things  that  the  earth 
has,  and  that  is  the  first  law  of  my  nature. 
And  these  fools  would  hold  me  to  them — 
to  a  rocky  farm — to  a  living  death.  My 
few  years  of  life  given  to  this  groveling 
misery  !  That  would  be  disobedience  to 
the  first  law  of  my  being :  so  great  a  sin 


128    GRA  Y :   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

that  no  other — that  all  others  together 
could  not  equal  it. 

"  They  want  me,  because  they  love  me. 
I  do  not  love  them.  That  is  the  plain 
truth  told  to  myself. 

''They  love  me  because  I  am  nobler 
than  they.  I  can  not  stay  with  them  for 
the  same  reason. 

"  They  have  done  all  they  could  for  me. 
I  must  leave  them  now." 

And  then  his  thoughts  came  back  to 
Lilly  and  he  started  up. 

"  I  must  be  away  before  to-morrow," 
he  concluded;  and  he  ran  up  the  steep 
path,  for  the  pleasure  which  the  exertion 
gave  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

EFORE  twelve  o'clock  that 
night,  Israel  was  on  his  way. 
After  a  few  minutes  of  rapid 
walking  he  passed  the  Lincoln 
house.  He  had  neither  thought  of  avoid- 
ing this  nor  preferred  the  road  which  led 
past  the  home  of  Lilly.  Simply,  he  was 
on  his  way. 

As  for  Lilly  at  this  hour,  we  can  be  sure 
of  only  one  or  two  things.  She  was  not 
asleep,  she  was  very  happy,  and  in  the 
silence  she  kept  whispering  to  herself, 
"  To-morrow,  to-morrow,"  until  with  a  joy- 
ful throb  she  began  to  say,  and  never  tired 
of  saying,  "  To-day,  to-day  he  will  take  me 
to  live  with  him." 

So  then  Israel  Slyme  came  of  age  in  the 
grand  air,  on  the  highway,  marching  swift- 
ly through  the  night  towards  the  south. 

*  ^  7f  -Jf  4f  * 

Twelve  hours  later,  when  the  sun  stood 
directly  above  his  head,  and  he  had  begun 
to    reflect   that   there    were    some    warm 


IJO     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

noons  in  November,  Israel  arrived  at  the 
foot  of  a  long  hill.  Here  the  road 
branched,  one  way  leading  over  the  hill 
and  another,  equally  traveled,  skirting  its 
base.  A  sign-post  stood  at  the  crossways, 
but  its  inscription  was  quite  obliterated. 

He  was  about  to  take  the  upper  road 
when  a  farmer,  driving  a  team  of  spirited 
young  horses  harnessed  to  an  open  wagon, 
overtook  him.  This  farmer  turned  off 
into  the  lower  road. 

"Helloa!  Is  that  the  way  to  Old- 
haven?"    cried  Israel. 

"  Yaas,  I'm  going  ter  Oldhaven.  Air 
ye  bound  in  that  direction  ?" 

''Yes." 

''  Whoa,  Nelly  !  whoa,  Bob  !  Git  in  an' 
I  guess  I'll  give  ye  a  lift  ez  fur  ez  ye  go." 

The  offer  was  gladly  accepted. 

"  Come  fur  to-day  ?" 

''  Fifty  miles." 

"  Whew  !     And  whar'  from  ?" 

"  From  jail,"  said  Israel. 

"  Why,  ye  don't  look  ter  me  like  that 
sort  of  feller.  Ye  would  kiver  up  that 
spot  outer  your  cheek,  ef  ye  was  'fraid  of 
bein'  recognized.  Whar  did  ye  say  yer 
was  goin'  ter  ?" 

''  Into  the  ground." 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  IJI 

''  I  guess  you're  kinder  facetious,  aint 
ye  ?     An'  what  might  yer  name  be  ?" 

''James  Johnson." 

"  Thunder  !  Ye  don't  say,  now.  Why, 
my  wife's  folks'  name's  Johnson,  from  up 
Massachusetts  way.  Oskawask  is  the 
name  of  the  place.  Ye  don't  happen  ter 
have  heard  of  that,  perhaps." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  through  the  town." 

''  Dew  tell  !  An'  whar  did  ye  say  ye 
was  goin'  ?" 

''  I  told  you  I  came  from  jail  and  that  I 
was  going  into  the  ground  ;  but  I  did  not 
know  that  your  wife's  name  was  Johnson, 
or  I'd  have  been  more  explicit.  Now  then 
— but  first  let  me  ask  if  I  shall  have  a 
chance  to  get  dinner  anywhere  on  the 
road." 

"  Air  ye  hungry  ?" 

"Asa  wolf." 

"  It  dews  seem  as  though  my  woman 
put  up  something  for  me." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  take  your  dinner." 

''  Whoa,  Bob  !  who-up,  Nelly  there  !" 
cried  the  farmer.  When  the  wagon  was 
brought  to  a  stand-still,  he  said  angrily  : 
''  Ef  I  aint  good  enough  fer  ye  to  eat 
with  me,  James  Johnson,  and  fer  me  ter 
eat  with  you,  why,  good-bye  to  ye." 


132     GRAY:  AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

Israel  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  In  that 
case,"  he  said,  "you'd  lose  the  story  that 
I  am  about  to  tell,  and  I'd  lose  my  dinner. 
Drive  on,  man  ;  and  if  I  eat  more  than  my 
share,  remember  I've  had  fifty  miles  for 
appetizer." 

"  You  air  a  likely  hand  to  do  a  day's 
work,"  said  the  farmer,  measuring  Israel 
with  his  eyes,  "  but  I  guess  there's  enough 
for  both  on  us" — and  he  started  up  his 
team  again. 

"  Well  then,  Mr.  Perkins—" 

''  That  beats  all !  I  disremember  that  I 
told  you  my  name  is  Perkins !" 

"  Ezekiel  Perkins,  isn't  it  ?" 

''  Ezekiel  H.  Perkins,  that's  my  name.  I 
don't  know  ez  I've  any  call  ter  be  ashamed 
on  it.  But  how  on  airth  did  ye  come  ter 
know  ?" 

It  was  quite  natural  that  Israel,  who  had 
passed  his  life  among  the  few  families  of 
Oskawask,  should  know  whom  Kate  John- 
son had  married  and  should  have  heard 
from  the  old  parents  at  home  all  about 
their  prosperous  son-in-law  in  Connecti- 
cut ;  but  Israel  had  in  mind  a  little  experi- 
ment to  test  the  intelligence  of  the  man 
beside  him.  To  carry  out  this  experiment 
he  deviated  from  the  plain  truth. 


MRS.    EATON'S    VERSION  I 33 

"  I  was  asking  the  way  a  piece  back — a 
couple  of  miles  or  so,  I  guess,"  he  replied, 
falling  into  the  dialect  of  his  companion, 
^'  and  an  old  woman  with  one  eye  told  me 
as  Ezekiel  Perkins  drove  down  to  Old- 
haven  carrying  chickens  and  eggs  to  the 
market,  every  Saturday,  behind  the  best 
team  of  horses  in  the  county  ;  and  if  I 
would  wait  for  him,  he'd  give  me  a  lift  and 
never  leave  the  straight  road.  So  when  I 
saw  your  horses,  I  made  sure  it  was  you, 
Mr.  Perkins." 

"  That  was  like  enough  old  Betsey 
Turnbull,"  said  the  farmer.  "  Waal,  they 
air  a  likely  team  enough.  I  raised  'em 
myself  from  colts.  Nellie  is  eight  and 
Bob  he  is  nigh  outer  seven  year  old.  Git 
up,  there.  Steady,  old  gal" — putting  the 
team  on  their  mettle. 

So  Israel  had  uttered  a  lie,  seasoned 
with  a  little  flattery,  and  was  believed 
without  further  question. 

Pursuing  his  experiment  he  continued  : 

*'  Now  for  the  story  : — There  has  been  a 
gold  mine  in  the  possession  of  my  family 
for  three  generations  " 

"  A  gold  mine  !  Why  ye  don't  look  ter 
me  like  that  kind  of  a  dandy." 

"  Just  so.     I  have  been  kept  out  of  my 


134     GRAY:   AN   OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

rights :  kept  in  bondage,  out  of  my  lawful 
inheritance.  That's  what  I  meant  by  say- 
ing I  came  from  jail." 

"  Whar  might  this  gold  mine  lie  ?" 

**  South  of  Washington." 

''That  might  be  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  or 
South  Ameriky." 

"  Exactly  what  T  have  always  said  my- 
self. I  agree  with  you  entirely."  This 
answer  staggered  the  good  farmer,  who 
did  not  quite  catch  the  drift.  Then  Israel 
continued  : 

''  That's  where  I  am  going.  My  great- 
grandfather is  there  and  I  expect  to  find 
him.  Didn't  I  say  I  was  going  into  the 
ground?  That  is  what  I  meant.  I  am 
going  into  a  gold  mine  and  when  I  come 
out  I  shall  be  rich  enough  to  buy  the 
whole  State  of  Connecticut." 

"  See  here,  young  James  Johnson,  I  like 
funnin'  and  I  like  fooling,  but  you  suit  me 
too  gol  durned  well." 

So  Israel  told  the  truth,  as  well  as  he 
understood  it,  and  was  not  believed. 

But  inasmuch  as  the  results  of  the  ex- 
periment were  not  at  variance  with  his 
previous  experience,  he  did  not  reflect 
upon  the  false  judgment  of  the  world, 
but  plied  his  new  acquaintance  with  min- 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  135 

gled  falsehood  and  truth,  according  to  the 
caprice  of  his  overflowing  humor.  The 
fact  is,  Israel  was  fairly  intoxicated  by  the 
freedom  of  his  situation  and  the  infinite 
prospect  of  adventure  which  stretched 
out  before  his  mental  vision. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that  even 
this  which  seemed  reckless  humor  proved 
serviceable  to  his  interests  ;  for  Ezekiel 
Perkins  not  only  shared  a  substantial  lunch 
with  our  young  adventurer,  but  felt  him- 
self greatly  honored  by  the  other's  conde- 
scension in  praising  the  cold  meats.  So 
far  indeed  did  this  manner  of  Israel's  ac- 
complished the  purpose  for  which  it  had 
been  assumed,  or  rather  permitted  to  show 
itself,  that  before  sunset  Ezekiel  Perkins 
pronounced  his  companion  to  be  an  amaz- 
ingly entertaining  young  fellow  who  knew 
a  thing  or  two  if  only  he  could  stop  jok- 
ing long  enough  to  show  it. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  they  drew  up 
on  the  brow  of  a  hill  from  which  the 
waters  of  Long  Island  Sound  were  visible. 

''  Thar  is  Oldhaven,"  said  the  farmer, 
''  and  a  right  pretty  town  it  is,  an'  no  mis- 
take." 

There  indeed  lay  the  town  at  their  feet, 
spreading  out  as  it  chose,  like  a  great  vil- 


I 30     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

lage  rather  than  a  city, — not  crowding  its 
inhabitants  in  upper  stories  for  lack  of 
ground-room,  but  occupying  only  a  small 
portion  of  the  generous  plain  which  lay 
between  the  encircling  hills  and  the  sea. 

Israel  sprung  from  the  wagon. 

''  Good-bye  !" 

''  Ain't  ye  goin'  inter  the  town  ?" 

''  Rather  walk,  thank  you." 

"■  Er — how  long  ye  say  ye  stop  here  ?" 

"  Long  enough  to  get  money  to  con- 
tinue my  journey." 

''  And  whar  then?" 

"  To  my  gold  mine,  I  told  you." 

''  Did  ye  say  yer  grandfather  stopped 
down  thar  in  the  ground  ?" 

"  Great-grandfather,  to  be  exact." 

'*  Waal,  take  care  on  yerself.  Don't  ye 
stop  down  thar  in  the  same  way.  Say," 
(with  hesitation),  ''  I  know  yer  foolin'  about 
gold  mines,  but  I  guess  I'd  kinder  like  ter 
hear  from  ye  sometimes,  that  yer  all 
right." 

''  You'll  hear  from  me  again,  don't  you 
be  afraid." 

''  Waal,"  said  the  farmer,  with  a  kindly 
light  in  his  grey  eyes,  and  leaning  out  to 
shake  Israel  by  the  hand,  *'  waal,  I  guess 
it'll  be  a  right  smart  while  before  I  furgit 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  I 37 

ye.  Git  along,  Nellie,  ol'  gal !" — and  he 
drove  off,  leaving  Israel  standing  beside 
the  road. 

Perkins  did  not  forget  this  encounter, 
for  he  told  Horace  Penman  of  it  when 
they  were  serving  together  in  the  war. 
It  was  after  their  adventure  on  the  inhos- 
pitable mountain,  from  which  they  were 
driven  by  blood-hounds  ;  and  Perkins  be- 
gan by  saying  that  the  name  of  Captain 
Johnson  reminded  him  of  a  young  fellow 
whom  he  had  met  nine  or  ten  years  be- 
fore. 


CHAPTER  III 

ROM  the  point  where  Israel 
stood,  the  view  is  beautiful. 
That  faint,  irregular  line  on  the 
southern  horizon  is  Long  Island, 
thirty  miles  away.  Nearer  is  a  splendid 
sea, — its  waters  crisping  and  curling  be- 
neath the  November  breeze  ;  then  a  har- 
bor with  its  fleet  of  white-winged  oyster- 
boats  ;  then  the  wide  salt  meadows,  dotted 
over  with  hayricks,  following  the  course 
of  two  small  rivers  far  inland  ;  then  the 
generous  plain  for  shaded  streets  to  lead 
across,  for  pleasure-gardens  and  for  mar- 
ket-gardens— a  comfortable  dwelling-place 
for  men  ;  then  the  rampart  of  hills,  enclos- 
ing and  protecting  the  territory  of  Old- 
haven  and^marking  it  off  as  a  thing  apart, 
peculiar  and  superior. 

Standing  out  prominently  from  this  wall 
of  hills,  two  cliffs  guard  the  town  from  the 
east  and  from  the  west.  Not  high  enough 
to  be^, grand,  these  ''Rocks,"  as  they  are 
called,  are  nevertheless  suggestive  and  in- 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  IJQ 

teresting.  They  are  the  final  effort  of  the 
Green  Mountain  range,  and  descendants 
of  Mansfield  and  Camel's  Hump  in  remote 
Vermont.  They  are  not  mere  upstarts 
from  the  vulgar  plain,  therefore.  They 
point  with  pride  to  their  noble  kindred. 

Why  had  Israel  chosen  to  alight  from 
the  wagon  and  to  enter  the  town  alone  ? 
For  a  very  simple  reason.  He  did  not 
know  where  he  should  apply  for  work, 
and  was  unwilling  that  anyone,  even  a 
chance  acquaintance,  should  be  witness  of 
his  indecision.  It  was  his  way  to  act  with 
decision,  as  though  there  could  be  no 
doubt  or  question  about  what  he  did.  He 
knew  that  this  confidence  was  contagious, 
communicating  itself  to  others,  leading 
them  to  repose  unbounded  confidence  in 
his  powers.  He  was  quite  logical,  there- 
fore, in  affecting  more  than  usual  assur- 
ance of  manner  when  really  inwardly  per- 
plexed. 

Observe  him  closely  now,  while  he  is 
off  his  guard,  alone  in  a  country  road. 
We  may  now  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
natural  man.     What  do  we  see  ? 

We  see  a  fine-looking  young  fellow  walk- 
ing slowly  along  beside  a  stone  wall. 
Every  few  minutes  he  takes  a  large  stone 


I40     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

from  the  wall  and  casts  it  across  the  road 
— a  great  distance  to  put  so  heavy  a  stone. 
He  seems  to  have  nothing  to  do  and  much 
strength  to  spare. 

That  is  a  distinct  and  simple  picture  ; 
but  no  more  distinct  to  me  than  is  every 
scene  which  I  shall  describe.  What  do  I 
care  for  evidence  to  prove  these  things  ? 

Israel  must  have  assisted  in  the  con- 
struction of  many  such  barriers  on  the 
farm  in  Oskawask ;  for  it  required  skill  as 
well  as  strength  to  cast  the  heavy  stones 
to  the  very  place  designed.  One  heavier 
piece,  however,  fell  short  by  several  feet. 
Thereat  Israel  was  provoked,  and  select- 
ing a  smooth  boulder  twice  the  size  of  its 
predecessor,  raised  this  to  his  shoulder 
and  cast  it  so  fairly  that  it  alighted  upon 
the  very  top  of  the  opposite  wall,  carrying 
away  several  large  pieces  from  that  and 
making  a  breach. 

*'  Bravo  !  Well  put,  sir  !"  cried  a  friendly 
voice.  "  Well  put,  indeed  !" — and  John 
Eaton,  his  face  beaming  with  delight,  has- 
tened up  to  Israel.  ''  I  have  been  watch- 
ing you  for  some  time.  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  apologize  for  that.  Taking  my  after- 
noon walk  across  the  fields,  you  know.  It 
so   happened    that   1    could    hardly   help 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  14I 

seeing  you.  That  was  a  magnificent  effort, 
that  last !" 

''Is  this  your  fence,  sir,  that  I  have  been 
pulling  to  pieces?"  asked  Israel,  bluntly. 

''  Oh,  no  harm  done  !  Magnificently  put ! 
Let  me  see,  fifty,  sixty  feet  at  the  very 
least ;  and  a  stone  I  should  not  care  to 
lift !"  He  looked  up  into  Israel's  face  with 
childlike  admiration. 

Israel  pointed  across  the  road  to  the 
breach  in  the  wall.  "■  The  more  power  one 
puts  into  that  sort  of  work,  the  worse  for 
everybody,"  he  said. 

'*  But  if  you  had  the  humor  for  con- 
structing instead  of  destroying,  what  an 
amount  of  fencing  you  could  do  in  a 
day  !" 

"  You  have  stone-fencing  to  be  done  ?" 
asked  the  young  fellow,  quickly. 

"A  mile  or  more.  This  is  my  place, 
which  I  am  trying  to  get  into  good  shape. 
See — "  John  Eaton  put  his  hand  on  Israel's 
arm  and  pointed.  ""  I  own  from  where  we 
stand  to  the  top  of  that  farther  hill.  Mill- 
ions of  rocks  !  The  place  has  never  been 
properly  improved." 

"  How  much  will  you  pay  by  the  yard 

for  fencing  ?" 

A  shilling,  and  furnish  the  team,"  replied 
21 


142     GRA  Y:   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

Mr.  Eaton,  trying  to  make  this  sound 
business-like. 

''  I  will  do  some  of  it  for  you." 

"  You  !"  cried  John  Eaton  in  amaze- 
ment. "  Well,  well,  I  am  in  luck.  The 
unexpected  happens.  Come,  come  with 
me  before  you  change  your  mind."  So  he 
led  Israel  across  the  fields  to  his  home, 
chatting  gayly  all  the  way. 

Did  he  charm  Israel  by  the  refinement 
and  gentleness  of  his  manner  ? 

I  know  what  kind  of  a  man  John  Eaton 
was.  I  know  this  from  what  my  husband, 
who  was  his  ward,  and  Horace  Penman, 
who  was  his  bosom  friend,  have  told  me. 
Winthrop  loved  him  more  than  he  loves 
me,  and  Mr.  Penman  says  that  in  the 
course  of  his  long  life  he  has  never  met 
another  character  so  noble.  In  Oldhaven 
he  was  little  known ;  for  although  his 
name  stood  in  the  catalogue  of  the  uni- 
versity as  ''  Professor  of  Anglo-Saxon",  his 
duties  in  that  connection  were  slight,  and 
he  was  rarely  seen  in  the  town,  except  as 
driving  to  or  from  the  library  in  an  old- 
fashioned  carriage  with  shining  brass  trim- 
mings. On  such  occasions  the  multitude 
of  books  to  be  returned  or  to  be  taken 
away,  almost   filling   the   interior  of   this 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  1 43 

stately  vehicle,  might  well  have  raised  a 
doubt  in  the  minds  of  onlookers  as  to 
whether  the  center  of  learning  was  the 
college  or  ''  Westwood." 

As  for  his  manners,  John  Eaton  was  one 
of  those  Americans  who  imagine  the  man- 
ner of  cultivated  foreigners  to  be  perfec- 
tion itself,  and  who  place  this  ideal  before 
them  as  a  model.  They  are  therefore 
striving,  not  to  be  English  or  French  or 
Italian,  but  to  be  perfect.  Amiable  illu- 
sion ! 

Did  he  charm  Israel  by  the  refinement 
and  gentleness  of  his  manner?  I  shall 
answer  that  question  presently. 


CHAPTER  IV 

O  then,  Israel  fell  to  hauling  and 
piling  stones — an  occupation  into 
which  he  put  all  his  heart  and 
all  his  strength,  knowing  that 
every  rod  of  fence  constructed  meant  so 
many  miles  of  his  southward  journey  made 
easy  and  swift. 

As  for  John  Eaton,  he  took  his  morning 
cigar  in  the  fresh  air,  watching  Israel's 
progress  with  silent  delight ;  and  in  the 
afternoon  left  his  books — even  the  transla- 
tion of  Beowulf  which  he  was  making — 
to  study  the  great  muscles  of  this  young 
giant's  bared  forearm  and  throat. 

''  There !"  he  would  say  to  himself. 
"  There  is  the  explanation  of  those  incred- 
ible feats  recorded  of  the  northern  hero. 
Beowulf  SAvims  five  days  through  the  icy 
sea,  tracks  foul  spirits  to  their  den  beneath 
the  water.  Impossible  ?  Why  no.  Here 
am  I  now,  shivering  under  my  warm  over- 
coat while  that  young  fellow  welcomes 
the  keen  air  to  his  bared  breast.  He  is  a 
step   backwards   tOAvard    the   noble   past. 


MRS.  EATON'S    VERSION  14S 

He  is  a  connecting  link  between  ourselves 
and  the  heroes.  I  am  giving  my  life  to 
the  study  of  heroic  lives — to  the  depiction 
of  inspiring  careers  in  quaint  language. 
Alas  !  I  have  given  it  away.  It  is  too 
late  now  for  me  to  change.  But  I  was  not 
made  of  heroic  stuff.  I  may  at  least  try 
to  be  great  enough  to  admire  that  which 
I  am  myself  not  able  to  become,  and  to 
admire  without  envy.  God  help  me ! 
....  I  could  love  a  man  with  such  a 
chest  as  that." 

Then  the  good  gentleman  would  per- 
haps speak  a  few  kind,  modest  words  to 
Israel,  (calling  him  James  Johnson,  for 
Israel  had  retained  this  alias,)  or  forget 
himself  completely  in  the  absorbing  inter- 
est of  a  great  question  which  had  occu- 
pied his  mind  for  a  year. 

"A  long  period  of  gestation,"  he  would 
admit.  "  I  must  soon  be  delivered  of  this 
happy  thought  which  I  know  is  some- 
where in  my  brain,  and  which,  when  it 
issues,  will  reconcile  the  harsh  expressions 
of  the  ancient  original  with  the  refine- 
ments of  modern  taste." 

He  was  in  search  of  a  measure  which 
would  suit  the  great  Old  English  poem, 
and  yet  be  musical. 


14^    GRA  Y:  AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

One  afternoon  when  this  whimsical 
question  was  fairly  burning  within  him,  he 
came  up  and  stood  by  his  hired  man. 
Strangely  enough,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
if  Israel  should  open  his  mouth  to  speak, 
his  first  words  would  contain  the  answer. 
He  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the  youth, 
so  that  Israel  smiled,  but  said  nothing  and 
continued  his  work  without  a  pause. 
Then  John  Eaton  walked  aside,  and  the 
solution  which  had  seemed  ready  to  come 
to  him  became  again  only  a  faint  possi- 
bility. Then  he  turned  back  and  passed 
by  Israel :  again  the  answer  almost  at- 
tained,— a  throbbing  at  his  ears  which, 
if  he  could  quite  catch  it,  would  be  the 
accents  of  the  long-sought  rhythm, — a 
wavering  line  before  his  eyes,  that  was 
almost  a  perfect  verse.  Then,  when  he 
had  passed  the  silent  workman,  the  old 
vacancy  and  impossibility. 

''  Why  this,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  this 
is  the  children's  game  of  '  Hot  and  Cold'. 
I  am  nearer  the  idea  when  I  am  near 
Johnson."  And  he  returned  to  him,  say- 
ing :  ''My  dear  man,  would  it  be  asking  too 
much  of  you  to  come  to  me  when  you  are 
rested  this  evening, — to  come  to  me  in  my 
study  ?   I  have  something  to  read  to  you." 


MRS.   EAION'S    VERSION  147 

Of  course  Israel  assented. 

The  same  evening  Israel  entered  the 
study, — a  large  room  almost  destitute  of 
furniture  ;  red  curtains  drawn  close  ;  not 
a  picture  upon  the  walls,  or  other  decora- 
tive object  to  be  seen  save,  above  the 
simple  fire-place,  a  bronze  statuette  of  the 
Venus  of  Melos.  The  entire  center  of  the 
room  was  filled  by  a  table,  so  large  that 
one  could  scarcely  reach  objects  placed 
farthest  from  its  circumference.  There 
was  a  litter  of  papers  and  books  upon  this 
table. 

John  Eaton  asked  Israel  to  sit  before 
the  fire  and,  in  order  to  make  him  feel  at 
home,  spoke  first  about  the  study. 

''  This  room,"  he  said,  ''  is  for  earnest 
thought ;  and  I,  who  am  by  nature  prone 
to  rambling  fancies,  have  removed  from  it 
every  object  the  sight  of  which  might 
tempt  my  mind  to  wander  away  from  the 
subject  I  have  placed  before  me.  Concen- 
tration: that  is  the  Avatchword  of  my 
sanctum.  To  encourage  myself  in  con- 
centration, 1  banish  whatever  suggests  the 
outside  world  or  its  inhabitants.  Even 
books  I  am  not  using  I  will  not  have  here. 

"  When  I  first  took  up  my  quarters  here, 
1  was  less  strict.     Then  I  allowed  myself 


14S    GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

one  picture  at  a  time, — as  the  Japanese 
do,  who  you  know,  however  many  works 
of  pictorial  art  they  may  possess,  enjoy 
these  one  at  a  time,  keeping  the  others 
rolled  up  and  put  away.  But  soon  I 
found  that  in  this  way  I  was  destroying 
my  relish  for  my  entire  collection.  1 
noticed  that  after  a  week  or  so  each 
picture  in  turn  began  to  seem  inferior." 

"  Did  you  try  landscapes  ?"  asked  Israel. 

"  No :  my  windows  are  my  landscapes. 
The  prospect  from  these  being  so  fine, 
I  have  never  felt  a  need  for  landscape 
painting.  The  lack  in  my  household  is 
the  lack  of  society,  of  friendly  men  and 
women  and  children.  So  1  have  peopled 
it  with  creatures  of  art, — representations 
of  human  beings  who  become  familiar 
and  endeared  to  me  little  by  little  and  do 
very  well  in  the  place  of  real  people. 

''But  as  I  was  saying,  the  pictures 
which  pleased  me  most  in  other  rooms  of 
the  house  for  some  mysterious  reason  lost 
their  charm  quickly  when  exhibited  here." 

"  Was  this  copy  of  the  Venus  standing 
here  at  that  time?"  Israel  asked. 

*'  Yes.  I  never  will  be  separated  from 
that.  I  bought  it  years  ago  in  Rome  ; 
and  how  many  of  my  better  impulses  have 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  149 

been  inspired  by  its  perfections  I  hardly 
dare  assert.  My  opinion  would  sound 
extravagant." 

Israel  suggested  that  the  contrast  with 
this  Venus  spoiled  modern  pictures. 

John  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment  and 
then  beamed  upon  him,  saying,  "  You  are 
right." 

Then  the  simple-minded  John  Eaton 
exclaimed :  ^*  Now  we  are  students  to- 
gether, you  and  I ;  for  we  have  considered 
a  nice  question  in  criticism  and  you  have 
helped  me  out  of  the  difficulty.  You  have 
the  master-key,  taste, — an  inborn  love  of 
the  best.  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. Do  you  know,  now  I  feel  that  you 
have  a  perfect  right,  even  in  my  study.  I 
feel  that  you  are  at  home  here.  The  same 
quality,  I  trust,  will  make  you  feel  at  ease 
with  me." 

This  was  said  in  an  appealing,  modest 
way,  which  won  a  polite  response  from  the 
younger  man. 

"  I  am  quite  at  ease  with  you,  sir ;  but  I 
attributed  that  to  your  cordiality  rather 
than  to  any  merit  in  myself." 

"  Now  let  me  tell  you  why  I  asked  you 
to  come  to  me  this  evening, — that  is,  if 
you  are  not  tired." 


ISO     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  Not  a  bit,  sir.  On  the  contrary,  I  am 
eager  to  hear." 

Thereupon  John  Eaton  took  up  from 
the  table  a  small  volume  neatly  bound  in 
black.  It  was  the  copy  of  Beowulf  which 
Winthrop  still  treasures  for  his  foster- 
father's  sake,  and  from  which  1  have 
gained  some  knowledge  of  the  poem. 

"■  I  have  had  my  translation  bound  in 
with  the  text,  page  for  page,  line  for  line, 
as  you  see  it,"  said  Eaton.  "  But,  dear 
me  !  1  have  not  told  you  what  it  is." 

He  handed  the  book  to  Israel  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  crossing  his 
knees  with  the  evident  intention  of  begin- 
ning deliberately. 

''  It  is  a  story,  a  very  old  story, — yet 
you  may  find  in  it  if  you  choose  the  story 
of  yourself." 

"  Of  my  future,  perhaps,"  said  Israel. 
*'  There  is  nothing  interesting  or  worth 
telling  in  what  I  have  done  up  to  this 
time." 

''  May-be,  may -be.  I  do  not  read  the 
stars  or  the  lines  of  the  hand  ;  but  I  love 
to  forecast  the  future  of  young  people. 
If  you  had  lived  in  the  time  long  gone  by, 
when  Beowulf  lived,  you  would  have 
been  like  him  ;   and  if  Beowulf  were  alive 


MRS.  EATON'S   VERSION  15 1 

to-day,  1  think  he  would  look  like  you,  my 
dear  Johnson." 

"  So  this  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  poem  of 
Beowulf  ?"  said  Israel,  opening  the  volume. 

"•  You  know  it?     You  have  read  it?" 

"  No.  But  in  the  history  of  English 
literature  I  studied,  there  was  an  account 
which  interested  me  of  the  single  manu- 
script— of  the  ninth  century,  was  it  not  ? — 
in  which  the  poem  exists." 

John  Eaton  leaned  forward  and  spoke 
eagerly :  "  Yes,  a  single  manuscript,  in 
part  illegible,  contains  this  precious  relic 
of  antiquity.  I  studied  that  long  and 
zealously  in  the  British  Museum,  making 
my  text  from  it.  The  time  seemed  to  fly 
in  this  congenial  occupation,  which  trans- 
ported my  spirit  to  remotest  ages  when 
the  figures  of  men  were  godlike  and  the 
ambitions  of  the  greatest  were  noble  and 
simple.  Those  were  happy  days.  It 
seemed  to  me  then  that  the  words  of  the 
original  yielded  their  meaning  so  easily 
that  it  would  have  been  profanation  to 
tamper  with  them,  to  put  our  flimsy 
modern  forms  of  speech  in  their  place,  to 
translate.  But  I  have  changed  my  mind 
in  that  respect.  If  only  the  antique 
thought    could    be    interpreted     to    our 


152     GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

understanding  in  the  right  way  ;  if  the 
most  noble  of  our  modern  words  could  be 
cast  into  a  form  of  verse  preserving  the 
movement  of  the  original,  yet  musical 
according  to  our  taste,  that  would  be 
grand !  Why,  even  for  educational  pur- 
poses, there  is  more  of  real  value  to  be 
learned  from  this  poem  than  from  a  dozen 
dry-as-dust  histories  of  Old  Germany  and 
Old  England  ! 

"  I  have  for  the  last  ten  or  twelve 
months  been  trying  to  hit  upon  just  the 
right  metrical  form  in  which  to  cast  my 
translation.  As  you  see  it  there,  in  the 
book  you  hold,  it  is  literal, — line  for  line, 
word  for  word,  so  far  as  possible. 

"  I  want  to  read  you  a  few  of  the  best 
passages,  and  I  will  sketch  the  story  up  to 
the  point  where  they  begin. 

"  Hrothgar  was  king  of  the  Danes,  and  his  kinsmen 
gladly  obeyed  him  inasmuch  as  he  had  fortune  in  war, 
honor  in  battle. 

"  It  came  into  his  mind  that  he  would  command  his 
subjects  to  construct  a  great  mead-hall,  in  which  he 
might  feast  and  distribute  treasures  to  young  and  to 
old  and  dispense  hospitality. 

"  In  time  all  was  ready.  The  hall  towered  aloft,  high 
and  long,  the  greatest  and  most  splendid  building  of 
those  days.     Hrothgar  called  its  name  Heorot. 

"  Together  with  his  thegns  he  feasted  within,  distrib- 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  153 

uted  gifts  and  listened  to  the  sound  of  the  harp  and  the 
clear  song  of  the  gleeman. 

"  But  a  mighty  demon  who  abode  in  darkness  began 
to  devise  treacherous  assaults.  This  grim  stranger  was 
called  Grendel,  who  ruled  the  moors,  the  fen  and  the 
fastness. 

"  After  the  night  had  come,  Grendel  went  out  to  attack 
the  high  house  ;  found  therein  a  company  of  nobles 
sleeping  after  the  banquet.  He  took  thirty  of  these  and 
with  this  feast  of  corpses  fared  home. 

"  The  next  night  he  inflicted  a  yet  greater  death-woe. 
So  did  he  war  against  right  until  the  best  of  houses 
stood  empty  and  deserted. 

"  Twelve  winters'  tide  the  Danes  endured  his  violence ; 
therefore  it  became  widely  known  that  Grendel  warred 
against  Hrothgar. 

"This  report  was  carried  by  traveling  gleeman  across 
the  strait  to  the  Swedish  Goths.  Among  these  Goths 
lived  the  strongest  of  mankind,  Beowulf. 

"  Beowulf  ordered  that  a  ship  should  be  made  ready, 
chose  fourteen  companions  and  set  sail.  He  offered 
his  service  to  Hrothgar, 

"The  distressed  king  gladly  accepted  this  offer  and 
departed  out  of  the  hall  with  his  company  of  Danes. 
He  stationed  a  guard  against  Grendel  ;  but  Beowulf 
would  trust  neither  to  these  nor  to  his  own  followers, 
but  to  his  own  proud  might.  Then  he  doffed  his  iron 
corselet,  the  helm  from  his  head,  and  gave  his  sword  to 
a  serving  man,  bidding  him  guard  the  war-trappings. 

"  Spoke  then  the  hero  certain  bold  words  before  he 
ascended  the  bed  :  '  I  do  not  count  myself  weaker  in 
battle  or  warlike  deeds  than  does  Grendel  count  himself. 
Therefore  I  wish  not  to  slay  him  with  the  sword.  He 
has  no  advantage  of  weapons.  If  he  dare  seek  me, 
then  the  wise  God  shall  award  glory  even  as  to  him  it 
seems  meet. 


154     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  Bowed  himself  then  the  valorous :  the  pillow 
received  his  face.  Round  about  him  many  a  keen 
sea-fighter  bent  to  his  rest  within  the  hall.  Not  one 
of  them  thought  that  he  should  thence  seek  his  beloved 
land  again. 

"The  shade-wanderer  came,  advancing  in  murky 
night.  The  spear-men  who  should  have  defended  the 
aniler-crowned  house  slept, — all  save  one. 

"  From  the  moor  came  Grendel  advancing  under 
misty  cliffs  :  God's  ire  he  bore.  The  wicked  enemy 
of  the  human  race  meant  to  seize  upon  some  one  in  the 
high  hall  ;  strode  under  the  clouds  until  he  full  well 
perceived  the  guest-house,  the  gold  hall,  variegated 
with  golden  plates.  That  was  not  the  first  time  that  he 
had  sought  Hrothgar's  home  ;  but  in  the  days  of  his 
life  he  never  found  a  sturdier  man.  To  the  building 
came  then  the  joyless  creature.  The  door  soon  gave 
way,  although  fastened  with  forged  bands,  so  soon  as 
he  touched  it  with  his  hand.  The  plotter  of  evil  dashed 
open  the  building's  entrance,  for  he  was  enraged. 

"  Quickly  after  that  the  fiend  trod  on  the  checkered 
floor,  moving  in  wrathful  mood.  From  his  eye  shot  a 
hateful  gleam,  likest  a  fiame.  He  saw  in  the  building 
many  men,  a  band  of  friends  sleeping  together,  a  num- 
ber of  kinsmen-warriors  :  then  his  heart  laughed.  The 
accursed  being  thought  that  ere  the  day  came  he  would 
sever  each  one's  life  from  the  body ;  for  in  him  was 
aroused  the  hope  of  a  full  feast. 

"  The  wretch  thought  not  to  delay,  but  quickly  seized 
the  nearest,  a  sleeping  warrior,  tore  him  at  unawares, 
devoured  his  fiesh,  drank  his  streaming  blood,  greedily 
swallowed  bite  after  bite.  Soon  had  he  feasted  upon 
every  morsel  of  the  lifeless  one. 

"  Forth  he  stepped  nearer  ;  laid  hands  upon  the  stout- 
hearted Beowulf  as  he  lay  upon  his  bed.  The  enemy 
reached  out  against  him  with  his  hands.     But  Beowulf 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  I 55 

quickly  seized  the  menacing  one  and  leaned  upon  his 
arm. 

"The  author  of  evils  soon  discovered  that  he  had  not 
met  upon  this  mid-earth  in  another  man  stronger  hand- 
grip. He  became  fearful  in  mind  and  soul  :  none  the 
more  could  he  escape. 

"  He  fain  would  have  fled  to  his  lurking  place  and 
haunt  of  devils.  The  good  hero  bethought  him  then  of 
his  promise,  stood  upright  and  grappled  him  fast.  The 
giant's  fingers  burst  as  he  strove  outwards.  The  earl 
stepped  in  front  of  him. 

"That  was  an  evil  excursion,  when  this  mischievous 
spirit  went  to  Heorot,  dinned  the  lordly  hall  :  All  the 
Danes  who  dwelt  in  the  city  had  their  ale  spilled. 

"  Wrathful  were  both  the  struggling  mighty  chiefs. 
The  building  resounded.  Then  was  it  great  wonder 
that  the  guest-hall  withstood  the  war-beasts  :  but  it  was 
fast  within  and  without  with  iron  bands,  forged  with 
workmanlike  care. 

"  Then  from  its  prop  was  wrenched  many  a  gold- 
adorned  mead  bench,  where  the  enemies  fought.  Little 
had  the  wise  men  of  the  Danes  thought  that  ever  any 
man  could  by  force  break  it  asunder,  the  goodly  and 
horn-decked  hall, — unless  arms  of  flame  should  swallow 
it  in  smoke. 

"  Strange  clamor  arose.  Direful  fear  seized  upon 
the  Danes,  every  man  of  them, — of  those  who  from  the 
wall  hearkened  to  the  outcry :  the  enemy  of  God  sing- 
ing his  frightful  lay,  his  cry  of  defeat, — the  thrall  of  hell 
bewailing  his  wound. 

"  He  who  was  strongest  of  men  in  that  day  of  this 
life  held  him  too  fast.  The  protector  of  earls  would 
not  for  anything  leave  the  murderous  guest  alive,  nor 
did  he  deem  his  life  useful  to  any  people. 

"Then  many  of  Beowulf's  earls  brandished  their 
swords  and  would  have  shielded  the  life  of   their  lord 


15^    GRAY:   AN   OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

and  renowned  chief,  if  so  they  might.  The  brave  sons 
of  strife,  when  they  attacked  Grendel  and  thought  to 
hew  him  and  seek  his  soul,  knew  not  that  the  choicest 
blade  in  the  world  could  take  no  effect  upon  the  mighty 
plague :  for  he  had  spelled  him  against  victorious 
weapons. 

"  Yet  his  life-parting  must  be  wretched  and  the  lone 
spirit  journey  afar  into  the  power  of  fiends  ;  for  he 
who  had  been  mirthful  only  as  he  framed  many 
treacheries  against  mankind  discovered  now  that  his 
body  would  not  follow  him,  but  the  bold  Goth  held 
him  by  the  hand.     Each  was  loathed  by  the  other. 

"  Bodily  pain  awaited  the  grisly  wretch ;  on  his 
shoulder  appeared  a  mortal  wound  ;  his  sinews  sprang 
apart,  the  bone-casings  burst.  To  Beowulf  was  allotted 
the  honor  of  the  conflict. 

"  Sick  unto  death  fled  Grendel  under  the  moor-cliffs, 
to  seek  his  joyless  dwelling.  He  knew  only  too  well 
that  his  life's  end  was  come,  the  measure  of  his  days. 

"  After  the  deadly  struggle,  the  wish  of  all  the  Danes 
had  been  accomplished.  He  who  came  from  afar,  wise 
and  stout-hearted,  had  cleansed  Hrothgar's  hall, — had 
freed  it  from  assault.     Heorot  was  filled  with  friends." 


Here  John  Eaton  paused  ;  for  he  sud- 
denly bethovight  himself  that,  carried  away 
by  his  enthusiasm  for  the  poem,  he  was 
giving  more  than  a  mere  sketch  of  its  plot. 
His  voice  had  grown  sonorous,  and  his 
face  expressed  the  force  of  his  subject 
while  he  recited  the  story.  The  gentle 
scholar  was  fairl}^  transformed.  Then 
with  a  sudden  change  of  tone  he  added  : 


MRS.  EATON'S    VERSION  157 

"■  And  so  forth  and  so  on,  my  dear  John- 
son. It,  is  a  tale  of  the  glory  of  conflict, 
leadership.  Beowulf  is  grand  because  he 
is  the  strongest  and  leads." 

''  What  was  the  fate  of  the  hero?"  asked 
Israel. 

''  After  other  noble  exploits,"  said  Eaton, 
''  Beowulf  was  made  king  of  the  Goths. 
He  ruled  th'e  people  well  for  fifty  years. 
Then  a  fire  dragon  began  to  lay  waste  the 
land.  Beowulf  slays  the  dragon,  but  is 
himself  mortally  wounded.  That  is  per- 
fect art,  because  it  is  necessary.  No 
other  termination  of  such  a  career  would 
be  artistic.  What  would  we  have  ?  The 
hero  struggles  nobly  throughout  his  life 
and  perishes  in  the  arms  of  victory.  A 
hero  is  not  a  god,  to  conquer  always." 

"  Then  a  hero's  character  is  imperfect, 
and  his  end  is  tragical  ?" 

''  Yes :  in  the  very  nature  of  things." 

''  But  the  hero  is  supposed  to  be  the 
highest  type  of  manhood." 

"  Yes :  I  love  to  read  about  them,  and 

so  to  pass  in  their  companionship,  as  it 

were,  the  hours  which  other  men  employ 

in   social   pleasure,  because    they    are    so 

much  nobler  than  the  men  of  to-day." 

''  There  are  no  heroes  then  to-day  ?" 
22 


IS8    GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  That  I  am  not  willing  to  say  ;  but  I 
know  none." 

''  I  know  none  of  the  kind  you  describe. 
But  is  there  not  a  higher  t}- pe  possible  to- 
day ?  Are  there  to-day  no  Beowulfs  with- 
out the  tragical  chapter, — who  triumph 
from  first  to  last, — who  overcome  the 
fire-dragon  without  being  scathed  ?  That 
would  be  still  more  admirable,  would  it 
not?" 

'*  Ye-es,"  replied  John  Eaton,  doubtfully. 
"  That  might  be  more  admirable.  But 
then  there  would  be  no  saci-ifice  ;  and  the 
element  of  self-sacrifice  is  necessary  to  the 
conception  of  a  hero.  Why,  a  man  always 
successful  would  be  selfish.  Take  away 
the  element  of  self-sacrifice  from  your  hero 
and  there  remains a  devil !" 

''  Then  it  follows,"  said  Israel  very  quiet- 
ly, ''  that  there  is  a  more  admirable  type 
than  hero, — namely,  devil :  not  an  inferior 
devil,  like  Grendel,  but  a  clever  devil, 
superior  to  the  hero  and  unscathed  by  the 
dragon.  Let  us  give  the  new  t3^pe  a  name  : 
The  Devil  of  Selfishness." 

'*  But,"  said  John  Eaton,  much  perplexed, 
"  but  that  is  an  ideal  unattainable  by  mor- 
tals ;  for  mortal  man  cannot  always  suc- 
ceed, always  combat  for   his  own  selfish 


MRS.  EATON'S    VERSION  1^9 

cause  and  be  always  victorious  and  saved 
harmless." 

"  Cannot !"  cried  Israel  scornfully.  "  Can- 
not? Until  his  powers  fail  and  together 
with  his  powers  desire  ceases,  and  so  the 
whole  story  is  perfectly  rounded  off, — no 
tragedy,  no  defeat  ?  A  man  can  assert 
himself  so  long  as  he  desires  that  and  then 
cease  to  exist !  From  what  you  yourself 
say,  Mr.  Eaton,  this  seems  a  more  perfect 
ideal  than  that  of  the  hero.  For  instance, 
this  would  be  the  tone  of  such  a  life  :  Suc- 
cess, gladness,  assurance  of  superiority — 
everywhere  and  at  all  times,  as  in  this  pas- 
sage ": — 

(He  opened  the  volume  of  Beowulf  and 
read,  wilfully  misreading  John  Eaton's 
translation.) 

"  Then  from  the  moor  came,  under  the  mist-cliffs, 
Grendel  striding,  scorning  the  wrath  of  God " 

"  Stop  !  stop  !"  cried  Eaton,  springing 
from  his  chair  and  evincing  the  wildest  ex- 
citement. ''  Read  those  lines  again  !  Wait 
one  moment,  till  I  get  paper";  and  with  a 
trembling  hand  he  seized  a  pen,  dipped 
the  wrong  end  into  the  ink  bottle,  flung  it 
away  and  snatched  up  another.  "  Now, 
now,  read  those  lines  again,  please.     For- 


l6o     GRA  Y :  AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

give  me,  but  read  quickly  !  Oh,  no !  never 
mind.  lean  remember  them.  How  could 
I  ever  forget  ? 

Then  from  the  moor  came,  under  the  mist-cliffs, 
Grendel  striding,  scorning — no,  bearing — the  wrath  of 
God." 

John  Eaton  wrote  down  the  words  in 
sprawling,  irregular  characters  ;  then,  with 
the  energy  of  delight,  seized  Israel's  hands 
and  wrung  them,  beaming  the  while  into 
his  face  through  tears  of  joy. 

"  That  is  it, — the  lost  metre  !  A  happy 
inspiration  has  revealed  the  secret.  You 
have  given  me  what  I  have  sought  so  long 
and  vainly  !" 

Israel  was  one  of  those  players  who 
know  when  to  stop.  He  had  won  largely 
in  two  casts, — in  the  suggestion  about  the 
Venus  and  in  discovering  the  metre — so 
he  pocketed  his  winnings,  as  it  were,  and 
while  admiration  was  still  lighting  the 
eyes  of  his  master,  took  his  leave  and  re- 
tired to  his  room. 

These  were  Israel's  thoughts,  and  this 
is  the  answer  to  the  question  at  the  end  of 
the  preceding  chapter : 

"  This  man  John  Eaton  is  more  of  a  fool 
than  I  am.     His  ambition  is  more  extrava- 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  l6l 

gant  than  my  own,  because,  as  anyone 
ought  to  see  at  a  glance,  that  old  fossil  of 
a  poem  has  no  music  in  it.  It  is  his  mine  : 
and  there  is  no  gold  in  his  mine  but  what 
he  takes  in  himself. 

''  Even  if  he  should  succeed,  what  good 
would  it  do  him  ?  His  world  is  the  past ; 
and  dead  men  cannot  return  to  praise  him. 
He  does  not  care  for  the  praise,  as  he 
could  not  support  the  criticism,  of  these 
degenerate  times,  as  he  calls  our  own 
times.  He  is  pure,  unselfish,  enthusiastic, 
elevated,  trustful :  that  is  to  say,  he  is  an 
old  fool." 


CHAPTER    V 


N  the  second  Sunday  of  his  stay 
at  ''  Westwood,"  Israel  became 
restless.  The  almost  feverish 
work  of  the  week  being  followed 
by  a  day  of  complete  rest,  the  change  was 
too  sudden.  Accordingly  he  strolled  out, 
intending  to  see  something  of  the  town. 

He  walked  across-country  towards  East 
Rock,  meaning  to  return  from  that  point 
through  the  streets.  Coming  to  the  ridge 
along  which  ran  Tutor's  Lane,  he  turned 
to  follow  this  wood-road. 

There  are  not  even  now  any  dwelling- 
houses  at  this  point ;  but  thirty  years  ago 
the  road  was  much  more  wild  and  much 
less  frequented. 

Israel  was  walking  along  rapidly,  saying 
to  himself :  "  My  service  is  ended.  I 
have  enough  now,  putting  what  I  have 
earned  with  what  I  brought  with  me,  to 
take  me  to  the  end  of  my  journey.  Yes, 
to-morrow  I  shall  go,  without  warning 
that  simpleton,  John  Eaton. 


MRS.  EATON'S    VERSION  163 

"  At  last  1  am  free  !  I  am  perfectly  free 
now  for  the  first  time  in  my  life ;  for  I 
have  the  means  to  do  what  I  will,  and  there 
is  nobody  hanging  about  my  neck." 

A  piercing  shriek,  a  cry  of  mingled  joy 
and  terror,  seemed  to  proceed  from  the 
earth  itself  just  behind  him.  Israel  turn- 
ed sharply  about.  There,  a  few  feet  from 
the  edge  of  the  road,  a  woman  was  crouch- 
ed upon  the  ground. 

Lilly! 

The  woman  was  trembling  so  that  she 
could  not  rise  or  speak.  Her  face  was 
deadly  pale,  her  eyes  like  those  of  a  wound- 
ed animal. 

Israel  stood  looking  down  at  her, — at 
her  stained  dress  and  disordered  hair,  at 
the  dark  lines  under  her  eyes,  at  her  white, 
quivering  lips.     Then  he  said  : 

''  Lilly,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

''  Oh,  come  to  me  !"  she  moaned.  ^'  Don't 
you  see  me  ?" 


At  first  Lilly  was  too  overjoyed  to  think 
of  anything  except  the  recovered  lover. 

At  length  Israel  compelled  her  to  ex- 
plain. Then  she  told  of  the  sorrowful 
birthday  in  Oskawask :  how  she  had  wait- 


164     GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

ed  for  his  coming,  and  finally  the  sisters, 
dear  Grace  and  Gertrude,  had  come,  think- 
ing Lilly  might  know  where  he  was  ;  how 
she  had  then  gone  back  with  them  to 
Israel's  home. 

''  And,  oh,  my  darling  husband  !  there 
we  sat,  four  helpless  women  (for  even 
your  mother  seemed  helpless)  and  waited. 
Worthless,  weak  women,  who  must  wait 
and  suffer !  How  I  wished  I  could  be  a 
man  then  !"       • 

"  You  had  father  and  Samuel,"  inter- 
posed Israel. 

"  Yes,  but  your  father  went  down  to  the 
falls,  and  back  and  forth  between  the  falls 
and  the  house  :  that  was  all.  Samuel  went 
about  his  work  as  usual  :  he  has  no  heart ! 
Oh,  I  mean  a  man,  like  you,  my  superb- 
ness !  .  .  .  We  waited  all  through  the  day 
until  evening ;  then  your  mother  rose 
and  with  a  little  sob  which  broke  my  heart, 
she  is  so  cheerful  and  brave  usually,  she 
put  away  the " — (Lilly  herself  sobbed) 
*'  the  presents  for  your  birthday.  ...  Is 
this  you  ?     Really,  truly  you  ?" 

Words  failed  her,  and  she  clung  to  him 
in  order  to  assure  herself  of  this  possession, 
this  precious  fact.  Her  face  was  hidden, 
pressed  against  his  breast.     As  for  his  face, 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  idj 

which  she  could  not  see,  can  you  conceive 
the  expression  of  disgust  rendering  a 
beautiful  face  perfectly  ugly  ? 

As  though  she  had  drawn  force  and 
confidence  from  him,  Lilly  continued : 

''  Then  the  others  went  about  their  work 
again  ;  but  I  waited  and  waited,  day  after 
day,  until  all  hope  was  gone.  No,  not 
that ;  for  when  I  began  to  despair  I  began 
to  hope  again.  I  saw  that  it  would  kill 
me  to  give  up  hope.  ...  I  resolved  to 
find  you,  and  set  out  alone.  I  took  the 
southern  road  because  your  thoughts  al- 
ways took  that  direction.  I  inquired  as  I 
went.     The  first  day  there  was  no  trace." 

it  will  be  remembered  that  Israel  made 
this  portion  of  the  way  by  night. 

"  The  next  day  I  was  about  to  give  up 

and    try    another    direction,    when?" 

here  Lilly  began  to  laugh  and  grow 
radiantly  happy  as  she  recalled  the  first 
encouragement — ''  I  met  a  milkman,  who 
said  that  on  the  very  da}^,  you  know, 
Friday,  he  had  been  stopped  in  the  early 
morning  by  a  young  fellow  who  asked  for 
a  drink  of  milk  and  offered  to  pay  for  it. 
And  he  said  he  had — I  mean,  you  had — a 
mark  on  your  cheek.  Do  you  see  !  Even 
he  knew  you  were  magnificent ! 


1 66    GRAY:   AN   OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

''  So  I  went  forward  until  I  came  to  the 
foot  of  a  long  hill,  where  I  took  the  wrong 
road." 

"  Was  there  a  sign-post  at  the  cross- 
roads ?"  Israel  asked. 

"  Yes,  with  nothing  on  it  but  names  of 
people  and  hearts  and  darts  carved  in  it," 
laughed  Lilly. 

It  was  there  that  Israel  had  been  over- 
taken by  the  farmer.  Lilly  had  had  no 
such  good  fortune,  but  had  toiled  up  over 
the  hill  only  to  find  that  she  had  come 
miles  out  of  the  way  and  in  consequence 
must  take  a  road  which  enters  Oldhaven 
from  the  north-east. 

She  had  met  expenses  on  the  road  with 
the  little  money  saved  up  for  her  wedding. 
Her  last  stopping  place  was  a  few  miles 
from  town.  "  On  the  other  side  of  that  hill," 
she  said,  pointing  to  Mill  Rock.  She  had 
been  so  weak  and  ill  in  the  morning  that 
she  could  not  stir ;  but  in  the  afternoon 
had  mustered  strength  enough  to  come 
so  far.  Here  she  had  been  resting  when 
she  had  seen  Israel  pass,  and  cried  out. 

''  My  darling  little  lady,  you  have  done 
all  this  for  me  !"  exclaimed  Israel  ;  and  by 
that  one  sentence  Lilly  felt  more  than 
rewarded  for  all. 


MRS.   EATON* S    VERSION  l6y 

Then  he  soothed  her,  tellmg  her  that  he 
had  been  earning  money  for  her  ;  that  this 
was  necessary  in  order  that  they  might  be 
married ;  that  he  had  not  told  her  his  in- 
tention lest  she  should  have  refused  her 
consent. 

Then  he  persuaded  her  to  return  to  the 
house,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  Rock, 
from  which  she  had  just  come. 

''  Of  course  1  can  let  you  stay  there 
until  to-morrow  only,  —  no  longer  than 
that, — my  dear  little  wife,"  he  said,  gayly. 
"  Meantime  I  look  up  a  nice  place  for  you 
near  where  I  am  working.  .  .  .  Listen :  I 
have  enough  now  to  provide  a  little  cot- 
tage, with  only  two  or  three  rooms  to  be 
sure,  but  all  the  better.  You  cannot  be 
out  of  my  sight  when  I  come  home  from 
work  in  the  evening.  It  will  be  some  dis- 
tance from  town,  for  I  have  not  much,  you 
know, — but  all  the  better :  we  shall  have 
no  neighbors  to  interrupt  us,  and  if  you 
feel  lonely,  you  can  just  put  on  your 
things  and  run  over  to  watch  me  at  work. 
That  will  be  good  for  your  cheeks,  my 
dear,  which  are  rather  pale  to-day ;  and 
after  a  little  while  you  will  not  be  lonely 

even  when  I  am  gone ." 

See  that  red  brand  on  his  face  ! 


1 68    GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

It  was  such  a  lonely  road  that  Israel  did 
not  hesitate  to  carry  her  in  his  arms  part 
of  the  way  ;  and  when  he  left  her  near  the 
house  on  Second  Lake,  she  was  entirely 
trustful. 


The  next  day,  Monday,  Lilly  waited 
vainly  until  late  in  the  afternoon.  Then 
an  idea  occurred  to  her  which  made  her 
hurriedly  don  her  wraps  and  start  out  into 
the  cold  air. 

"  He  must  have  meant  that  I  was  to 
meet  him  there,  where  we  met  yesterday," 
she  said  to  herself. 

In  her  eagerness,  she  almost  flew  along 
the  road. 

''  He  will  be  waiting  :  he  may  be  angry," 
she  thought. 

Poor  Lilly  !  She  stood  alone,  waiting 
by  the  stone  at  the  roadside  until  it  grew 
dark. 

Then  she  returned  alone,  with  a  woeful 
heaviness  at  her  heart. 


CHAPTER    VI 

ILLY     LINCOLN    was    by    no 

means  a  helpless  person,  with- 
out energy  or  resources  in  her- 
self. The  blind  passion  and  com- 
plete self-surrender  with  which  she  had 
attached  herself  to  Israel  are  not  to  be 
mistaken  for  evidences  of  weakness  ;  for 
indeed,  in  this  matter  of  loving,  it  is 
oftener  the  small  and  weak  natures  which 
hesitate,  deliberate  and  are  wise  in  their 
own  interests. 

After  the  first  shock  of  her  disappoint- 
ment, she  began  to  realize  that  there  might 
be  some  siniple  and  natural  explanation  of 
Israel's  not  appearing  at  the  appointed 
spot  in  Tutor's  Lane.  It  had  occurred  to 
her  immediately,  as  already  suggested, 
that  her  lover  might  even  have  waited  for 
her  there  until  his  patience  was  exhausted, 
while  she,  through  a  misunderstanding, 
had  been  expecting  him  at  the  farm-house 
on  Second  Lake.  This  explanation  she 
clung  to,  because  it  seemed  to  make  all 
the  fault  her  own. 


I70    GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  Or,  if  that  is  not  it,"  she  reasoned, 
"  he  may  have  met  with  some  accident. 
Handling  those  heavy  stones  I  have 
always  heard  is  very  dangerous.  Oh,  if 
he  should  be  suffering  away  from  me !" 

She  recalled  also  that  charming  picture 
of  domestic  happiness  which  Israel  had 
painted  in  words  that  seemed  to  her  more 
glowing  than  the  brightest  colors  of  a 
New  England  sunset. 

So  then,  after  a  little,  she  had  conquered 
whatever  bitterness  or  misery  at  first 
entered  her  breast ;  and  if  any  doubt  or 
mistrust  of  Israel  applied  at  the  door  of 
her  heart,  she  would  not  admit  it  or  even 
listen  to  it.  She  was  a  proud  little  woman 
in  her  own  way.  Love  and  doubt  could 
not  dwell  together  in  her  nature. 

Israel  was  either  justly  angry  with  her 
or  he  was  in  need  of  her.  That  he  had 
deserted  her  was  quite  unthinkable.  Of 
course  she  must  search  for  him  and  find 
him. 

But  he  had  not  told  her  for  whom  he 
was  working :  how  should  she  set  about 
finding  him  ? 

This  is  what  she  did :  she  went  right 
into  the  center  of  the  town  to  inquire 
for  Mr.  Penman.     He  had  been  in  Oska- 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  IJI 

wask  the  night  before  Israel's  first  disap- 
pearance :  there  might  be  some  connec- 
tion between  the  two  occurrences.  He 
might  even  have  persuaded  Israel  to  seek 
his  fortune  in  Oldhaven. 

This  thought  made  her  pause.  How 
she  would  hate  him  if  that  were  true  ! 

But  after  all,  he  was  the  sole  person 
whom  she  knew  in  all  this  strange  town, 
even  by  name.  And  then,  too,  he  had 
looked  and  spoken  kindly  that  evening. 
Surely  he  could  not  have  been  so  wicked. 
No,  she  Avould  not  believe  it. 

On  little  Lilly  went,  trying  hard  to  look 
very  courageously,  and  painfully  conscious 
of  the  rustic  and  unfashionable  dress  she 
wore  as  she  passed  in  front  of  those  sub- 
stantial residences — which  seemed  to  her 
palaces — in  the  better  part  of  the  city. 

"  Will  Israel  be  ashamed  of  me  here 
among  all  these  fine  people  ?"  she  asked 
herself. 

On  she  went  beneath  that  beautiful 
Gothic  arch  of  elms  on  Temple-street  until 
she  came  to  the  green. 

She  had  a  vague  notion  that  upon  arriv- 
ing at  the  very  center  of  the  city  she 
would  find  one  house  much  larger  and 
more  splendid  than  all  the  rest,  and  there 


172     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Mr.  Penman  would  live.  He  had  seemed 
to  her  so  much  finer  than  the  neighbors  in 
Oskawask,  when  he  was  riding-  through 
on  his  way  to  Boston  and  when  Israel  had 
given  up  his  own  room  to  this  stranger, 
that  Lilly  naturally  thought  he  would  be 
finer  and  grander  than  all  the  inhabitants 
here  also. 

At  the  green,  however,  the  largest  build- 
ings were  evidently  not  dwelling-houses. 
On  one  side  were  chiefly  shops  and  hotels ; 
on  another  a  row  of  brick  factories  or  jails, 
she  thought ;  then  iiiany  churches  and 
residences,  among  which  she  could  not 
decide  upon  the  probable  home  of  Mr. 
Penman. 

Wandering  about  with  indecision  for  a 
time,  she  finally  mustered  courage  to 
address  a  workman — one  of  many  who,  as 
the  custom  then  was,  were  idling  upon 
the  corner  of  Church  and  Chapel  streets, 
waiting  to  be  employed.  Their  rough 
dress  was  more  familiar  to  Lilly,  who 
feared  to  stop  any  of  the  fine  gentlemen 
who  passed  and,  with  a  woman's  instinct 
in  such  matters,  never  dreamed  of  appeal- 
ing to  one  of  her  own  sex. 

*'  Can  you  tell  me  where  Mr.  Penman 
lives?"   she  inquired. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  IJJ 

The  man  thus  addressed  was  a  brutal, 
stupid  German,  who  stared  at  her  pretty 
face  upturned  towards  his  and  made  a 
motion  to  put  his  grimy  hand  on  her 
shoulder. 

She  was  about  to  turn  and  fly  when  a 
middle-aged  gentleman  walked  up  to  the 
crowd  of  workmen  and  said  : 

"  I  want  to  hire  two  men  by  the  week 
to  work  for  me  on  my  place.  They  must 
be  strong  fellows,  for  the  work  is  heavy  ; 
but  I  am  ready  to  pay  you  well  and  feed 
you  well.  Which  of  you  understands 
fence-building?" 

Something  in  this  gentleman's  voice  or 
manner  informed  Lilly  that  she  could 
speak  to  him  without  fear,  so  she  turned 
to  him  repeating  her  question  : 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Mr.  Penman 
lives,  sir  ?" 

The  German  crowded  her  aside  and 
took  off  his  cap  deferentially  before  the 
gentleman. 

''  Mein  Herr — "  he  began. 

"What  do  you  want?"  the  gentleman 
demanded. 

''  To  work,  gnad'ger  Herr." 

"•  Don't  you  see  the  young  lady  has 
spoken  to  me  ?     Stand  aside  !" 

23 


174     GRAY:   AN   OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

The  churl  slunk  away,  casting  an  angry 
look  upon  Lilly,  to  whom  the  gentleman 
then  spoke  in  the  most  kincll}^  amiable 
way. 

"  Did  you  ask  for  Mr.  Penman — Horace 
Penman — child  ?  Why  yes,  he  lives  but  a 
few  steps  from  here.  I  will  accompany 
you." 

''  Oh,  no,  sir  !  Don't  take  that  trouble," 
said  Lilly,  secretly  hoping  that  he  would, 
however,  for  she  felt  wonderfully  well 
with  this  stranger. 

"  In  one  instant,"  he  continued ;  "  as 
soon  as  I  have  arranged  with  these  men," 
— and  he  chose  two  from  among  the  appli- 
cants, directing  these  to  come  to  West- 
wood  ;  then  joined  Lilly  and  walked  with 
her,  smiling  and  chatting,  along  one  of  the 
diagonal  paths  of  the  green. 

Horace  Penman  and  he  were  old  friends, 
he  explained.  He  never  came  into  town 
without  visiting  him  and  had  been  on  the 
point  of  going  there  when  she  spoke.  Mr. 
Penman  had  been  away  for  a  fortnight 
and  had  just  returned.  They  would  surely 
find  him  at  the  house  with  his  parents  this 
first  morning. 

A  sense  of  security,  of  peace  and  quiet 
happiness   seemed   to   proceed   from   this 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  173 

man  and  entered  gratefully  into  the  over- 
taxed spirit  of  his  companion. 

When  they  reached  Mr.  Penman's  house 
on  Temple  street,  Lilly  found  that  it  was 
one  she  had  passed  without  suspicion.  It 
was  a  plain,  humble,  wooden  structure,  in 
general  appearance  much  like  the  New 
England  farm-house, — one  of  many  such 
scattered  throughout  this  city  and,  to- 
gether with  the  abundance  of  trees,  giving 
to  the  whole  the  appearance  of  a  large 
village.  There  was  a  narrow  strip  of  lawn 
between  the  house  and  the  street.  In  the 
rear  was  a  deep,  old-fashioned  garden. 

There  were  two  sufficient  reasons  Avhy 
Mr.  Penman,  with  his  aged  parents,  lived 
in  so  modest  a  mansion. 

First,  this  house,  standing  upon  this  very 
spot,  had  been  inhabited  by  three  genera- 
tions of  Penmen,  Horace  A.,  Horace  B., 
and  now  plain  Horace.  It  Avould  have 
been  unbecoming  in  the  present  represen- 
tative if  he  had  let  the  property  pass  into 
strange  hands. 

The  second  reason,  which  may  appear 
sufficient  in  itself,  was  this :  The  third 
Horace  was,  at  that  time,  not  independent 
in  money  matters.  A  rising  young  lawyer 
of  good   reputation,  his  clientage  was  still 


176     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

somewhat  restricted ;  and  there  being 
several  persons  whose  claims  upon  his 
extremely  moderate  income  seemed  to 
him  equal  or  superior  to  his  own  claim,  he 
was  only  too  happy  to  be  able  to  keep  up 
the  old  family  home,  to  offer  its  shelter,  as 
had  been  the  custom  of  his  father  and 
grandfather,  to  relatives  visiting  the  city, 
and  in  a  word  to  maintain  that  unambitious 
style  of  living,  neither  shrinking  from 
accustomed  expenses  nor  inviting  new 
ones,  which  prevailed  among  the  older 
families. 

They  found  Mr.  Penman  at  home,  being 
treated  for  a  severe  cold  contracted  dur- 
ing his  horse-back  excursion  to  Boston. 
Lilly's  kind  guide  was  most  solicitous 
about  his  friend's  health.  Mr.  Penman 
reassured  him  and  promised  to  be  out  in  a 
day  or  two  at  farthest. 

"  Then  you  must  come  to  see  me,  my 
dear  Horace  !"  cried  the  other.  ''  Come 
the  very  first  day  you  feel  up  to  it.  I 
have  something  important  in  a  literary 
way  to  communicate.  I  have  found,  or 
rather  a  happy  chance  has  revealed  to  me, 
the  proper  metre  of  Beowulf.  It  is  grand ; 
and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  discovered 
is  most  singular  and  interesting.     I  owe  it 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  177 

all   to  a  young  man  named  Johnson 

but  I  must  not  keep  you  now.  Come  as 
soon  as  you  can  !" 

He  took  leave  of  Lilly  with  especial 
courtesy  and,  as  he  passed  down  the 
street,  turned  to  wave  his  hand  to  Mr. 
Penman,  who  stood  at  the  window  watch- 
ing him. 

Lilly  had  begun  to  fear  that  she  was  for- 
gotten when  Mr.  Penman  crossed  the 
room  to  where  she  was  sitting  and  placed 
himself  in  front  of  her. 

"Well,  Miss  Lincoln,"  he  said,  ''what 
can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

This  had  an  inifriendly  sound  to  Lilly  ; 
but  she  answered  with  praiseworthy  firm- 
ness : 

"  I  came  to  ask  your  assistance,  sir  ;  but 
I  fear  I  intrude,  and " 

"Pray  don't  be  offended.  Miss  Lincoln," 
Mr.  Penman  hastened  to  interpose.  "  I 
did  not  speak  your  name  just  now  because 
a  lawyer  can  never  know  why  people 
come  to  him,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that 
perhaps  you  might  not  care  to  have  it 
mentioned  before  a  stranger.  How  are 
they  all  at  Oskawask,  and  especially,  how 
is  the  son,  Israel  ?" 

Lilly  told    her   story   very  simply    and 


178    GRA  Y :   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

concluded  by  asking  Mr.  Penman's  aid  to 
find  Israel. 

At  a  loss  for  something  better  to  say  or 
to  do,  Mr.  Penman  rubbed  his  hands  to- 
gether and  repeated  that  well-worn  formu- 
la, "  We  will  see  what  can  be  done ;  we 
will  see  what  is  to  be  done."  Then  he 
tried  to  imagine  what  John  Eaton  would 
do  under  like  circumstances  ;  for  the  case 
seemed  one  of  peculiar  delicacy.  Perhaps 
in  this  way  he  came  upon  a  suggestion 
which  seemed  at  least  a  good  beginning. 

"  You  can  be  of  great  service  to  me,  Miss 
Lincoln,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  take  my 
place  with  my  parents  while  I  go  out  in 
this  matter." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  they  would  like  it  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  they  will," — and  he  went  out 
of  the  room,  presently  returning  with  a 
tall  lady  of  slight,  erect  figure,  whose 
sweet  face  was  framed  by  snow-white 
curls. 

''  Mother,"  said  he,  "  this  is  Miss  Lincoln, 
— one  of  those  who  were  so  kind  to  me  in 
Oskawask,  you  know.  I  wrote  you  about 
it,  don't  you  remember?" 

Mrs.  Penman  blushed  as  she  took  Lilly's 
hand,  thanking  her  for  the  imputed  hos- 
pitality.    Her  son  thought  there  was  noth- 


MRS.  EATON'S    VERSION  IJQ 

ing  SO  lovely  in  the  world  as  these  girlish 
blushes  upon  his  aged  mother's  cheeks  : 
but  then,  Mr.  Penman  had  not  up  to  this 
time  ever  had  any  other  sweetheart  than 
his  mother. 

Then  Lilly  was  taken  to  see  the  old 
father,  whose  infirmities  seldom  allowed 
him  to  quit  the  sitting  room  on  the  second 
floor.  Both  these  parents  were  delighted 
with  the  pretty  young  country  maiden, 
who  was  accordingly  left  in  their  care — 
or  they  in  her's,  as  you  choose  to  look  at 
it. 

Mr.  Penman  was  so  extremely  interested 
in  the  matter  that  he  could  not  remain 
indoors,  but,  regardless  of  his  doctor's 
injunction,  wrapped  and  bundled  himself 
warmly  and  went  out  to  search  for  Israel, 
wondering  at  the  same  time  what  he 
should  do  with  such  a  young  Hercules 
even  if  he  succeeded  in  finding  him. 
Towards  night  he  returned  without  hav- 
ing accomplished  anything  further  than 
the  restoration  of  his  own  health,  for  the 
hard  exercise  in  heavy  clothing  cured  his 
cold. 

The  following  day  he  went  to  see  John 
Eaton  and  told  him  Lilly's  story. 

*'  Now  I  thought  the  moment  she  spoke 


l8o     GRA  Y :  AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

to  me  that  there  was  something  most  in- 
teresting in  her  sad  young  face  !"  cried 
John  Eaton.  "  But,  dear  me,  I  am  always 
imagining  a  romance  for  each  new  person 
I  meet.  For  instance  that  James  Johnson, 
who  was  working  for  me  but  a  few  days 
ago  :  my  dear  Penman,  nothing,  positively 
nothing,  is  impossible  in  connection  with 
that  young  man.  How  I  wish  he  had  re- 
mained so  that  you  might  see  him  !" 

''  The  most  hopeless  feature  of  this  case,'' 
Mr.  Penman  continued,  giving  no  heed  to 
what  his  friend  had  said,  "•  is  that  the  man 
who  has  betrayed  and  deserted  this  poor 
girl  cannot  be  frightened  or  coerced  into 
doing  his  duty  by  her.  If  we  succeed  in 
laying  hands  upon  him,  he  will  resist  and 
make  a  bad  matter  worse."  And  then  he 
confessed  how  deep  an  impression  the 
young  Israel  had  made  upon  him,  that 
evening  in  Oskawask,  concluding  with  a 
description  of  the  beautiful,  proud  face. 

John  Eaton  had  become  very  thought- 
ful. ''  I  promised  to  tell  you  about  the 
wonderful  discovery  of  a  new  metre  for 
Beowulf,"  he  said,  "and  this  is  the  right 
time."  He  spoke  of  the  superhuman 
strength  and  noble  bearing  which  had 
distinguished   the   adventurer   and    made 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  l8l 

him  seem  a  person  peculiarly  fitted  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  daring  adventure 
so  powerfully  expressed  in  the  old  poem. 
'' Well,  then,"  he  added  gravely,  "  your 
description  of  his  appearance  leaves  no 
room  for  doubt.  Your  Israel  and  my 
Johnson  are  one  and  the  same  person." 


CHAPTER    VII 

ATIGUE,  exposure  and  excite- 
ment had  their  natural  effect 
upon  Lilly  :  she  fell  sick. 

At  one  time  she  thought  her- 
self dying,  and  evidently  had  a  great 
weight  upon  her  mind.  Mr.  Penman 
strove  to  comfort  her,  and  offered  to  re- 
new his  efforts  to  find  Israel ;  but  she 
smiled  at  this  and  said  : 

''  He  will  come.  If  only  I  could  go  out 
to  meet  him  in  Tutor's  Lane !" 

Mr.  Penman  notified  the  family  at  Oska- 
Avask  of  Lilty's  sickness.  They  wished  her 
to  return  to  them  ;  but  she  would  not  con- 
sent to  leave  Oldhaven,  where,  as  she  per- 
sisted in  believing,  she  was  to  meet  Israel. 

These  formal  letters  were  the  beginning 
of  an  interesting  correspondence,  of  occa- 
sional visits  and  many  passages  of  friend- 
ship, in  the  course  of  which  Mr.  Penman 
began  to  have  a  tender  feeling  for  one  or 
both  of  the  sisters,  Grace  and  Gertrude. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  a  great  change  was 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  1 83 

coming  over  the  Slyme  family.  Fortune, 
which  had  averted  its  face  throughout 
several  generations,  began  now  to  smile 
upon  them.  The  explanation  of  this  change 
has  been  given  by  Mr.  Penman.  They  were 
beginning  to  feel  quite  prosperous  and  in 
the  spring  there  was  talk  of  damming  the 
weedy  stream  and  putting  up  a  small  mill 
immediately.  These  were  happy  days  for 
Jonathan  Slyme,  days  of  plodding  indus- 
try for  Samuel,  days  of  subdued  grief  for 
the  sisters,  who  mourned  their  brother  and 
their  friend.  As  for  Mrs.  Sarah,  she 
directed  everything  and  inspirited  every- 
body as  usual. 

So  winter  and  spring  passed  and  sum- 
mer arrived. 

One  day  towards  the  end  of  June,  Mr. 
Penman  heard  that  John  Eaton's  only  son 
had  died  in  Havana.  He  took  occasion 
soon  afterwards  to  drive  out  to  "  West- 
wood,"  in  order  to  express  to  that  dear 
friend  his  heartfelt  sympathy. 

John  Eaton  gave  to  the  conversation 
which  ensued  a  somewhat  unforeseen 
turn. 

"  How  soon  is  the  child  expected  ?"  he 
asked. 

''  Very  soon." 


1 84     GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  Would  Madame  Lilly  consent  to  my 
adopting  it,  think  you  ?" 

"  Yes  :  but  under  the  circumstances  she 
is  hardly  to  be  consulted."  Mr.  Penman 
told  of  her  strange  fancy  about  meeting 
Israel  at  a  certain  spot  in  Tutor's  Lane, 
and  of  her  earnest  desire  and  futile  efforts 
to  go  thither  each  afternoon — a  thing  quite 
impossible  now,  of  course.  Her  mind  was 
undoubtedly  affected,  he  said,  although  her 
disposition  remained  wonderfully  sweet. 

John  Eaton  discussed  the  probable  char- 
acter of  the  expected.  "  If  he  should  com- 
bine the  father's  strength  and  brilliant 
mind  with  the  mother's  heart  and  dis- 
position, what  a  noble  fellow  that  would 
make !"  he  cried. 

There  remained  one  doubt  to  vitiate  the 
whole  assumption.  "  How  do  you  know," 
Mr.  Penman  asked,  ''  how  do  you  know 
that  it  will  be  a  boy  ?" 

John  Eaton's  countenance  fell.  ''  It  must 
be,"  he  said  ;  and  Horace  Penman  saw 
that  his  friend  was  thinking  of  the  lost 
son,  who  had  never  been  much  comfort  to 
his  parents  nor  had  ever  returned  his  fath- 
er's deep  love. 

Therefore  Mr.  Penman  suggested  no 
further    difficulties    or   doubts    when    his 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  l8S 

friend  proceeded  to  sketch  the  possibility 
of  training  such  a  rich  nature  and  bringing 
forth  excellent  fruit. 

Shortly  after  this  conversation  a  male 
child  was  born. 

The  young  mother's  love  for  this  child 
was  something  wonderful  to  behold.  It 
was  an  eager,  fierce  love.  She  could  not 
endure  any  other  person's  touching  the 
little  stranger  in  pink  or  taking  him  from 
her  even  for  a  moment.  The  dear  old 
Mrs.  Penman  shook  her  grey  head  over 
such  conduct.  ''  It  is  not  natural,"  she 
said. 

Mr.  Penrpan,  for  his  part,  saw  with  grief 
that  the  good  result  he  had  hoped  from 
Lilly's  confinement  had  not  been  realized. 
On  the  contrary,  symptoms  which  alarmed 
him  became  daily  more  apparent.  Lilly 
would  hold  the  child  pressed  close  against 
her  face  and  speak  to  it  by  the  hour, 
quite  forgetful  of  any  other  presence.  At 
such  times  she  would  utter  thoughts  which 
a  woman  hides  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart, 
speaking  as  though  to  her  lover.  Who- 
ever chanced  to  be  near  then  would  tiptoe 
away,  leaving  her  alone  with  sacred  joys. 

Often  she  would  look  up  if  one  spoke  to 
her  and  explain  mildly  :     "  It  is  not  mine 


1 86    GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

but  for  a  little  while.  I  must  give  it  back 
to  its  father,  you  see.  So  I  am  loving  it 
and  telling  it  all  I  can  while  it  is  here." 

No  one  guessed  the  real  state  of  poor 
Lilly's  mind  but  Mr.  Penman,  who  could 
not  bear  to  add  this  anxiety  to  his  mother's 
cares  ;  for  which  reason  Mr.  Penman  under- 
took himself  to  watch  her  and  save  her 
from  harm  when  his  other  occupations  left 
him  free, — that  is,  of  course,  after  doctor 
and  nurse  had  taken  their  departure. 

It  was  with  this  thought  uppermost  in 
his  mind  that  he  hurried  home  one  even- 
ing in  July.  The  mother  met  him  in  the 
hallway,  looking  pale  and  agitated. 

"  Mrs.  Lilly  has  gone  out,"  she  said. 
''  I  do  not  know  where.  1  went  upstairs 
to  your  father  and  when  I  came  down 
again — about  an  hour  ago — she  was  miss- 
ing. I  did  not  know  whether  to  send  for 
you.  Oh,  I  fear  it  will  do  her  much  harm 
to  go  out  now  !" 

*'  And  the  boy  ?"  Mr.  Penman  asked 
quickly. 

''She  must  have  taken  it  with  her." 

"  Tell  David  to  follow  me  in  the  buggy, 
dear  mother,  right  out  Tutor's  Lane." 

It  was  plain  enough.  Mr.  Penman  felt 
almost  relieved  that  what  he  knew  must 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  iSy 

come  sometime  had  occurred  when  the 
air  was  so  mild  that  Lilly  and  her  child 
would  probably  take  no  harm  from  ex- 
posure to  it.  Without  hesitation  he  bent 
his  steps  towards  Tutor's  Lane,  confidently 
expecting  to  find  her  waiting  for  Israel  at 
the  appointed  place. 

Quite  far  out  on  the  road  he  met  her 
returning  alone,  her  arms  hanging  free  at 
her  side,  a  divine  resignation  glorifying 
her  pale,  pure  face.  She  smiled  at  Mr. 
Penman,  saying : 

"  He  will  be  happy  now  !  He  will  take 
baby  first  and  after  a  while,  when  he  has 
money  enough,  you  know,  he  will  come  to 
meet  me  there.  Oh,  it  is  not  far  !  I  can 
easily  walk  out  each  evening  until  he 
comes.  And  then  I  shall  have  them  both 
together.  I  pray  God  it  may  not  be  long, 
sir,  before  he  comes." 

Mr.  Penman  told  her  to  walk  on  slowly 
until  she  should  meet  the  carriage  and 
then  drive  home.  He  himself  pressed 
forward  and  found  the  child  asleep,  nicely 
wrapped  in  the  shawl  which  Lilly  had 
worn  when  she  came  to  Oldhaven,  by  the 
well-known  rock  near  the  roadway.  He 
took  up  this  pitiful  little  bundle  and  car- 
ried it  by  the  nearest  way  to  John  Eaton  at 


1 88    GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  Westwood," — retracing  thus  the  course 
which  Israel  had  taken  on  that  memorable 
Sunday  afternoon  in  November. 

It  was  his  intention  to  leave  the  child 
with  this  kind  friend  only  upon  condition 
that  Lilly's  delusion  should  continue  and 
she  should  be  happy  in  the  sacrifice.  That 
proved  to  be  the  case.  Lilly  continued 
until  her  death  to  be  an  inmate  of  the 
Penman  home.  She  was  very  pale  and 
quiet  and  always  wore  a  mysterious  smile, 
as  though  she  knew  her  thoughts  were 
strange  and  that  something  wonderful 
beyond  belief  was  in  store  for  her,  which 
no  one  else  should  hear  about  until  the 
time  came. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days, 
With  a  net  of  shining  haze 
Silvers  the  horizon  wall, 
And,  with  softness  touching  all, 
Tints  the  human  countenance 
With  a  color  of  romance — Emerson. 

|0W   gloriously  Spring  comes  to 
the  southern  mountains ! 

How  lofty  are  these  moun- 
tains ;  yet  timbered  to  their  very 
summits,  rich  in  the  flora  of  every  clime, 
rich  in  clear  waters,  in  mineral  springs, — 
the  source  of  noble  rivers  which  run  from 
them  into  the  Atlantic  and  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico. 

This  was  the  delectable  land  of  the 
Indian  tribes,  their  terrestrial  paradise, 
their  happy  hunting  ground. 

Those  living  here  before  the  arrival  of 
the  white  adventurers  had  mastered  a 
certain  science  of  government,  together 
with  some  of  the  arts  of  civilization.  They 
were  the  proud  masters  of  all  the  neigh- 
boring tribes. 


I  go     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

But  they  were  driven  out  by  the  white 
man  and  their  lands  thrown  open  to  set- 
tlers, who  poured  in  from  the  adjoining 
States. 

These  whites  were  vagabond  fellows, 
welcoming  an  opportunity  to  live  without 
tilling  the  soil,  coming  with  long,  heavy 
rifles  and  without  hoes  or  plows. 

The  game  which  the  Indians  had  pre- 
served was  exterminated  by  these  ruth- 
less, improvident  scamps. 

Now  the  old  haunts  of  the  deer  are 
invaded  by  half  wild  swine  and  lean  kine 
giving  watery  milk  ;  and  the  white  men 
eat  dirt. 

See  these  cabins  of  unhewn  logs,  partly 
chinked  with  red  clay.  One  room  serves 
for  the  entire  family  and  oftentimes  for 
three  generations,  —  tenants  enough  to 
clear  a  few  acres  of  land  (leaving  large 
stumps),  to  scratch  the  surface  and  plant  it. 

They  are  not  exactly  a  rough  set,  but  in 
their  own  phraseology  a  ''  low-down  "  set ; 
not  actively  vicious,  but  they  lack  little  of 
being  nasty.    They  have  parsons  :  scamps, 

except  the  man  J ,  who  goes  dirty  and 

hunts  down  converts  as  the  local  curs 
hunt  woodchucks.  They  have  doctors  of 
medicine :  these  accuse  each  other  of  mal- 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  IQI 

practice  and  themselves  stand  convicted 
of  ignorance.  Illicit  stills  are  everywhere. 
They  hardly  recognize  such  a  thing  as 
virtue  in  women. Faugh  ! 

A  few  of  the  aboriginal  lords  are  left, 
and  these  live  where  the  waters  divide, — 
where  the  streams  flow,  some  to  the  east 
and  some  to  the  west. 

Living  together  in  a  little  village,  these 
have  degenerated  and  become  much  like 
the  ''  white  trash  ;"  yet  they  still  keep  a 
few  of  the  old  customs, — enough  to  make 
them  superior  to  their  destroyers :  they 
are  frugal,  temperate  and  silent. 

Here  is  the  source  of  one  of  the  rivers 
emptying  into  the  Atlantic  Ocean  :  a  single 
shaft  of  spray,  falling  at  once  two  hundred 
feet  over  a  brown  cliff,  softened  with  tufts 
of  grasses  and  flowers.  Wooded  walls  of 
a  narrow  valley  enclose  this  perfect  picture. 
A  pair  of  hawks  circling  above  cast  twin 
shadows  which  course  in  swift  silence 
over  sunny  bank  and  silvery  waters. 

Here  is   the    Indian   village.     Enter   it.  * 
It  seems  deserted,  for  the  inhabitants  are 
all  assembled  in  one   central  building  to 
witness  a  wedding. 

The  spectators  are  ranged  in  a  circle 
about   a   young    man    and    maiden.      All 


1^2     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

stand,  except  the  venerable  chief,  who  is 
seated  near  the  bride  and  groom. 

All  are  silent.  The  chief  makes  a  ges- 
ture, full  of  dignity  ;  and  then  the  young 
man  speaks : 

"  I  promise  to  supply  our  household 
with  game." 

The  young  woman  rejoins  : 

"  I  promise  to  supply  our  household 
with  bread." 

This  traditional  formula,  uttered  in  the 
native  language,  defines  the  duties  of  man 
and  wife. 

A  murmur  of  assent  comes  from  the 
spectators. 

Then  the  chief  arises,  takes  from  the 
shoulders  of  the  bride  the  blanket  of  many 
colors  which  she  wears,  while  the  bride- 
groom lays  off  his  own,  equally  gay. 

For  a  moment  they  stand  thus,  un- 
clothed but  unabashed,  because  they  are 
without  blemish. 

Again  the  murmur  of  assent  from  the 
spectators. 

Then  the  chief  places  the  maiden's 
blanket  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  man 
and  the  man's  upon  the  maiden. 

In  this  manner  the  contract  of  marriage 
is  symbolized  and  evidenced. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  igj 

Then  the  chief,  with  a  gesture  of  dis- 
missal, seats  himself  again.  The  cere- 
mony is  complete  and  the  assembly  dis- 
solved. 

One  of  the  spectators  and  the  chieftain 
remain. 

The  latter  deserves  a  few  words  descrip- 
tion. He  is  an  enormous  man, — almost  a 
giant — still  erect  and  powerful,  although 
evidently  very  old. 

His  feature  are  massive,  ugly  and  yet 
fascinating ;  his  eyes  small,  deeply  set 
and  lustreless;  nose  broad;  mouth  firm, 
with  thin  lips  ;  chin  and  jaw  square,  strong 
and  too  prominent  ;  complexion  colored 
and  marked  like  alligator-skin.  Such 
features  in  a  white  man  would  indicate 
brutality  ;  but  this  Indian  is  wise  and  just. 

The  other  man,  who,  riding-whip  in 
hand,  now  advances  to  interrogate  the 
taciturn  chief,  needs  no  further  descrip- 
tion.    It  is  Israel. 

*'  Is  there  gold  in  these  mountains  ?" 

"Yes." 

''  Where?" 

"  Everywhere." 

"  But  not  these  wretched  washings,  that 
pay  no  better  than  hoeing  corn.  A  gold 
mine  ?" 


ig4     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  What  is  mine  f 

''  Much  gold  together  in  one  place." 

A  long  pause  before  the  answer  comes : 
*'  Only  in  one  place  much  gold — cursed  !" 

''  Cursed  ?" 

No  answer. 

Israel  produces  a  tobacco-pouch  and 
offers  it  to  the  chief,  who  gravely  accepts 
it  and  gives  his  own  in  return.  The  pipe 
of  peace  has  not  yet  burned  out. 

They  sit  opposite  one  another  and 
smoke  in  silence.  At  length  Israel  begins 
again  : 

''  More  about  this  gold." 

The  chief  tells  of  a  mighty  prince,  lord 
of  the  Blue  Mountain,  who  had  once  ruled 
all  the  world.  He  was  grand  and  wise 
and  rich — richer  than  all  other  men  north 
or  south. 

''  What  was  his  wealth  ?" 

The  Indian,  being  at  a  loss  for  the  Eng- 
lish word,  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket 
and  took  out  a  magnificent  specimen  of 
mica,  saying : 

"  This,  one  ;  gold,  two." 

"  Ah !  he  was  rich  in  both  mica  and 
gold,  but  thought  most  of  the  mica," 
Israel  explained. 

The  report  was  brought  to  this  prince 


MRS.    EATON'S    VERSION  195 

by  young  men  of  a  subject  tribe  dwelling 
to  the  southward,  that  pale-faced  strangers 
had  come  to  them  in  ships,  which  they  at 
first  supposed  to  be  sea-monsters.  Moved 
by  curiosity,  the  Indians  had  flocked  in 
great  numbers  to  the  shore. 

Then  the  white-faced  stranger  had  taken 
two,  a  man  and  a  woman,  to  the  ships, 
dressed  them  and  let  them  go  free. 

The  king  of  the  country,  learning  how 
generously  the  man  and  woman  had 
been  dealt  with,  sent  fifty  of  his  people, 
bearing  gifts.  Then  the  white  strangers 
visited  him  and  he  received  them  hospita- 
bly. 

But  these  treacherous  strangers  invited 
the  Indians  to  visit  their  ships.  When  the 
vessels  were  crowded  with  these  innocent 
people,  they  sailed  away  and  never  re- 
turned, taking  children  from  parents  and 
husbands  from  wives. 

Then  the  lord  of  the  Blue  Mountain, 
when  he  had  heard  these  tidings,  declared 
that  the  prophecy  had  been  accomplished  ; 
that  a  curse  had  fallen  upon  himself,  his 
home  and  his  treasure ;  that  this  pale- 
faced  stranger  was  the  great  enemy  whose 
coming  had  been  foretold  by  their  wise 
men. 


19^    GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

'  The  white  men,'  he  said,  '  are  greedy 
for  the  yellow  metal,  which  we  hold  infe- 
rior to  mica,  but  which  is  their  god. 

*  Upon  us  the  curse  will  fall  most  heavily 
because  our  mountain  is  the  great  source 
of  gold  for  all  this  region.  The  enemy 
will  be  drawn  hither,  lusting  after  this,  and 
we  must  finally  yield  :  so  runs  the  pro- 
phecy. 

'  Cursed  is  this  spot,  formxcrly  so  blest. 
Its  blessing  has  become  its  curse.  Go, 
my  children,  leave  me  alone  to  guard  our 
riches,  to  drink  alone  the  curse  of  the 
place,  to  become  like  the  poisonous  weed 
that  grows  upon  the  grave  of  the  mur- 
derer. Our  treasure  is  our  murderer  and 
this  spot  is  cursed  by  the  overthrow  of  a 
mighty  people.' 

So  he  sat  there  and  would  speak  no 
more  nor  raise  his  eyes  from  the  ground. 
And  the  people  were  afraid  and  left  him 
desolate. 

A  few  were  faithful  and  would  not  go ; 
but  these  he  did  not  greet  neither  answer 
their  greeting.  These  sat  also  in  silence, 
gazing  off  towards  the  great  waters,  where 
their  foe  was,  until  they  saw  their  prince 
arise  and  lift  his  eyes  to  the  sky  and  speak 
with  the   Great    Spirit.     Then  he  looked 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  Ip7 

for  the  last  time  upon  his  servants  and 
went  into  the  cavern. 

*'  What  cavern?"  cried  Israel. 

His  treasure-house  upon  the  Blue  Moun- 
tain. 

Those  waiting  without  presently  heard  a 
sound  as  of  moaning  within  the  bosom  of 
the  mountain,  and  this  grew  into  a  mighty 
noise  and  a  torrent  burst  forth,  rushing 
out  from  the  cavern  and  leaping  down  the 
mountain-side.  But  the  cave  had  always 
been  dry,  save  for  a  little  spring  of  sweet 
waters. 

They  who  saw  this  miracle  cried  :  '■  The 
curse  has  indeed  fallen  upon  us  ;'  and  they 
ran  fearfully  away. 

One,  who  was  the  prince's  son,  ventured 
to  return  ;  but  the  cavern  was  no  more  to 
be  found.  Only  a  great  and  angry  torrent 
burst  continually  from  the  mountain-side. 

"  What  has  become  of  the  descendants  ?" 

The  old  chief  pointed  westward. 

*'  What  became  of  the  prince?" 

"  He  is  there." 

-  Where  ?" 

"■  In.  the  cave,  seated,  looking  down." 

"  Where  is  the  Blue  Mountain  ?" 

The  chief  pointed  to  the  south-east. 
"  Where    the    high    peaks    sink   into   the 


ig8    GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

bosom  of  the  plain,  the  last,  alone.     No 
man  lives  there.     No  man  knows." 


When  Israel  is  about  to  ride  out  of  the 
village,  a  young  Indian  maiden  who  had 
been  present  at  the  wedding,  springs  from 
the  bushes  near  where  he  has  tied  his 
horse,  looks  upon  him  with  the  expression 
of  a  wild  animal  in  love,  tears  off  a  piece 
of  shining  mica  from  a  string  of  such  rude 
ornaments  worn  around  her  neck  and  fall- 
ing down  to  her  dark  breasts,  hands  this  to 
him  and,  when  he  tries  to  seize  her,  slips 
away  with  the  nimbleness  of  a  squirrel, 
and  he  hears  her  laugh  coming  back 
through  the  thicket. 


CHAPTER   IX 

UST  beyond  the  northern  bound- 
ary of  South  Carolina,  the  Blue 
Ridge  Mountains  rise  quite  ab- 
ruptly to  an  imposing  height. 
Far  as  the  eye  can  see  to  the  southward, 
a  vast  pine  forest  covei's  the  undulating 
country,  traversed  by  streams  flowing  to 
the  south-east :  a  land  of  foxes  and  snakes 
— few  men. 

Yet  here  and  there  human  habitations 
are  to  be  seen.  The  visitor  wonders  why 
they  are  located  in  such  a  desert ;  but  the 
natives  do  not  wonder  or  even  think, — 
they  only  ''  'low." 

Offering  a  striking  contrast  to  such  un- 
profitable acres,  the  bottom-lands  along  the 
river-courses  are  extremely  fertile.  Unfor- 
tunately these  bottoms  are  narrow  and  the 
market  for  their  produce  very  distant  ; 
nevertheless  planting  on  a  considerable 
scale  has  been  done  there  by  men  of  wealth 
and  a  certain  kind  of  energy.  These  plant- 
ers formed  a  small  class,  distinctly  supe- 


200     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

rior  to  the  ''  white  trash  "  described  in  the 
foregoing  chapter  and  referred  to  in  the 
last  paragraph. 

Five  of  these  planters  met  one  afternoon 
in  July,  at  the  house  of  one  of  their  num- 
ber. Inasmuch  as  they  had  the  intention 
of  founding  a  city,  it  is  but  right  that  their 
names  and  honors  should  be  recorded 
without  delay. 

Dr.  Curesome  was  a  very  thin  man, 
smoking  his  pipe  and  drinking  incessantly 
and  referring  to  his  wife  as  authority  for 
every  statement. 

Dr.  Oldboy  was  a  theorist.  He  had  a 
theory  for  everything  in  heaven  and  upon 
the  earth.  Furthermore,  he  was  a  fight- 
ing, gaming  parson.  He  was  public-spirit- 
ed and  he  did  what  he  pleased.  It  is  told 
of  him  that  when  he  thought  the  neighbor- 
hood needed  a  Sunda)^ -school,  he  put  up  a 
notice  in  the  local  post-office  to  the  follow- 
effect :  Sunday-school  at  Dr.  Oldboj^'s 
house  next  Sunday  morning.  Every  per- 
son attending  will  receive  five  cents.  C. 
D.  Oldboy. 

Col.  Owner  was  a  polite,  ease-loving, 
generous  Southerner,  with  cordial  man- 
ners and  many  noble  traits  of  character. 

''  Billy  "    Miller    was    local     politician, 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  201 

banker,  postmaster,  surveyor  and  whisky- 
dealer. 

These  gentlemen,  all  well-dressed,  were 
seated  on  the  veranda  of  Squire  Lynch's 
house.  They  wxre  smoking,  drinking 
mint-julep  and  playing  poker. 

Squire  Lynch  was 'smoking,  drinking 
mint-julep  and  looking  on  over  Col.  Own- 
er's shoulder. 

Half-a-dozen  negro  boys,  slaves  and 
body-servants  of  these  gentlemen,  were 
standing  within  call. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  squire,  "it  is  for 
you  to  say,  but  I  reckon  we  might  stop 
with  this  deal.  You  began,  Billy," — ad- 
dressing the  colonel's  left-hand  neighbor 
— ''so  that  makes  it  all  square,   I  expect." 

"  I  reckon  I'll  go  out,"  said  Curesome. 

"  Five,"  said  Oldboy. 

"  Raise  you  twenty,"  said  Owner. 

"  See  your  twenty -five,"  said  Miller. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Oldboy.  "  There's  your 
twenty-five  and  twenty  more." 

"  There  are  your  twenty  and  I  raise  you 
the  limit,"  spoke  the  colonel,  betraying 
some  excitement. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  Owner,"  said 
Miller,  "  but  the  parson's  the  devil.  I 
reckon  I'll  go  out  too." 


202     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

"  Trust  me  for  the  limit.  Four  fours," 
said  the  Rev.  Oldboy. 

'*  Take  in  the  pile,  my  friend,"  said  the 
colonel.     "  Caesar,  you  dog,  another !" 

The  boy  thus  addressed  was  a  genuine 
African  with  a  flat  nose  and  nostrils  so  dis- 
tended that  they  were  like  a  pair  of  dark 
eye-glasses  perched  upon  his  protruding 
upper  lip.  He  sprang  forward  and,  took 
away  the  colonel's  tumbler  to  refill  it. 

Col.  Owner  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
cleared  his  throat.  "  Now,  gentlemen,  for 
larger  game,"  he  said.  ''  One  win,  all  win 
in  this  enterprise.  You  are  sure  there's 
no  doubt  about  setting  off  a  new  county, 
Bill  ?" 

"  Not  the  least.  I  have  it  straight  from 
the  Governor's  secretary,  colonel." 

"  And  the  appropriation  for  the  court- 
house and  jail?" 

''AH  right,  colonel." 

"  And  the  railroad  to  run  through  here  ?" 

Dr.  Oldboy's  hands  were  thrust  into  his 
well-filled  pockets.  With  great  satisfaction 
he  answered : 

"The  petition  and  the  subscription-list 
are  drawn  up  in  the  most  satisfactory 
manner.  I  did  it  myself.  There  can  be 
no  question  about   the  result,  sir, — none. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  203 

Why,  sir,  there  must  be  a  line  of  railroad 
connecting  the  great  ports  and  commercial 
cities  of  the  South  with  the  grain  and  cat- 
tle markets  of  the  West.  Where  else  can 
it  pass,  sir,  but  by  the  foot  of  these  moun- 
tains ?  Farther  to  the  north  it  could  not 
run,  sir.  There  is  no  pass  through  these 
mountains  ;  and  as  for  going  farther  south, 
that  is  sheer  folly.  But  wait " — and  he 
produced  a  folded  paper,  tied  with  red 
tape  and  inscribed  "  Americus  City."  "  I 
have  set  forth  the  reasons  and  arguments 
at  length,  and  perspicuously  here.  This  " 
— laying  the  paper  upon  the  table — "  this 
is  entitled  to  convince  our  legislators." 

"  Regular  as  pig-tracks,"  said  Miller,  ap- 
provingly. 

"  My  wife  shakes  her  head  over  it,"  put 
in  Dr.  Curesome  ;  then,  catching  a  smile 
on  his  neighbor's  face,  he  added  quickly  : 
"  But  I  reckon  I  rule  the  roost." 

Col.  Owner  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 
"  Eh,  Curesome !  The  best  part  of  the 
popvilation  in  our  southern  country  wears 
petticoats,  I  reckon,  eh  ?  Now  then,  gen- 
tlemen, here  is  the  plan  of  '  Americus 
City,' — streets  laid  out,  public  squares, 
rows  of  trees,  building  lots  numbered. 
Take  a  pencil  and  each  put  his  name  on  as 


204     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

many  lots   as  he  wants.     I  will  take   the 
rest." 

''  How  much  shall  we  say  for  a  town 
lot?"  asked  Oldboy,  deliberatively. 

"  Five  hundred  dollars  at  the  very  least." 

''  Well,  the  land  is  only  worth  two  dol- 
lars an  acre,"  ventured  Curesome. 

Everybody  looked  at  him  scornfully. 

"  Five  hundred  dollars,  that's  the  figure. 
It  sounds  handsome,"  said  Miller.  ''  I 
reckon  I'll  take  this  and  this  and  this." 

"  Suppose  we  let  it  go  round  and  take 
one  at  a  time,"  put  in  Oldboy.  ''  I  mark 
this  corner  lot." 

''  My  wife — I  mean,  I  don't  see  what 
good  it  will  do  if  we  don't  get  anyone  else 
to  come  in,"  observed  Curesome  with  dif- 
fidence. 

''  What  harm  ?"  asked  Miller. 

''  It  will  make  a  grand  impression  and 
bring  us  lots  of  capitalists,"  said  the  fluent 
Oldboy. 

''  In  fact  that's  all  damned  nonsense  of 

yours,    Curesome,    "     began    Squire 

Lynch. 

*'  Sir  !"  cried  the  little  man,  starting  to 
his  feet,  his  eyes  flashing  and  all  diffidence 
at  an  end. 

"Come,   gentlemen   both,   let   us   leave 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  20S 

abusive  language  to  the  Yankees,  who  em- 
ploy such  terms  because  they  are  afraid  to 
fight.  You  didn't  mean  that,  squire,  did 
you  now?"    The  speaker  was  Col.  Owner. 

''  For  a  fact  I  did  not  and  I  beg  your 
pardon.  Shake  my  hand  and  take  a  drink 
with  me,  neighbor,"  said  Lynch. 

The  fire-eating  but  henpecked  Curesome 
allowed  his  ruffled  feathers  to  subside  and 
proposed  a  toast : 

"  Well,    here's   to   our   city  !     May    her 

citizens  be  many  and her  citizens  be 

many.  I  reckon  that's  about  all  there  is 
to  be  said." 

At  this  moment  the  attention  of  all  was 
drawn  to  an  approaching  horseman. 

''  I  bet  a  coon  it's  Red  Jones  !  No  :  it's 
nobody  that  lives  around  here,"  the  Squire 
said,  judicially. 

A  stalwart  young  man,  much  sunburned, 
drew  rein  at  the  gate,  lifted  his  hat  and 
asked  politely,  ''  Have  I  the  honor  to 
speak  to  Squire  Lynch  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir, that  is,  my  name  is  Lynch. 

Won't  you  alight?" 

"  I  bet  five  dollars  he'll  join  our  scheme," 
said  Oldboy. 

"  I  take  that,"  said  Curesome. 

The  stranger  came  forward.      ''  Squire 

25 


206    GRAY:   AN'  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

Lynch,"  said  he,  ''my  name  is  James 
Johnson." 

*'  Glad  to  see  you,  Captain  Johnson. 
This  is  Col.  Owner,  Dr.  Oldboy,  Dr. 
Curesome  and  Squire  Miller.  Have  a 
seat,  sir." 

''  Squire  Lynch,"  began  Israel,  after 
saluting  the  other  gentlemen  as  they  were 
introduced,  "  I  have  heard  that  there  was 
a  prospect  of  building  up  a  town  here; 
and  as  I  was  intending  to  make  a  small  in- 
vestment in  lands  somewhere  in  this  neigh- 
borhood, I  decided  to  ride  over  and  talk 
with  you  about  it, — that  is,  of  course,  at 
your  leisure.  I  see  you  are  engaged  at 
present,  and " 

"  You  have  come  at  the  most  favorable 
moment,  sir — Capt.  Johnson,"  Dr.  Oldboy 
interrupted,  with  a  greedy  look  in  his  face. 
''  You  could  not  have  come  at  a  better 
time,  sir  !  The  gentlemen  present  are  all 
promoters  of  this  grand  enterprise  which 
is  destined  to  transform  the  face  of  the 
surrounding  country.  You  see  here,  sir, 
in  these  few  gentlemen,  the  wealth,  the 
aristocrac3^  the  talent  and  the  energy  of 
this  entire  region  represented.  What 
should  engage  the  attention  of  such  gen- 
tlemen, I  ask  ?     What,  but  an  undertaking 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  207 

which  will  convert  the  wilderness  into  a 
lovely  garden,  where  thousands  of  their 
fellow-beings  will  live  happily  and  pros- 
perously." 

Curesome  folded  a  five-dollar  bill  and 
handed  it  to  Oldboy. 

''  Such  was  the  theme  of  our  conversa- 
tion at  the  very  moment  of  your  arrival, 
Captain  Johnson  ;  and  now  let  us  proceed 
to  unfold  the  plan  in  all  its  details." 

The  six  men  drew  up  around  the  table, 
from  which  cards  and  poker-chips  had 
been  removed  and,  with  the  assistance  of 
various  papers  spread  out  before  them 
and  the  untiring  imagination  of  Oldboy,  in 
less  than  one  hour  had  constructed  a  thriv- 
ing city,  with  busy  shops  and  shaded 
avenues,  elegant  residences,  palatial  hotels 
—  yielding  a  princely  revenue  to  the 
originators  of  all  this  prosperity.  Israel 
entered  into  the  scheme  Avith  evident 
enthusiasm.  He  led  the  van  in  extrava- 
gant proposals,  so  that  even  Oldboy  found 
himself  outdone  in  his  own  specialty. 

But  the  latter  was  saving  himself  for  one 
crowning  effort. 

After  he  had  made  sure  that  ''  Captain  " 
Johnson  was  fairly  caught  and  a  share  of 
his  ''  small  investment "  ready  to  drop  into 


2o8    GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

his,  Oldboy's,  pocket,  he  pointed  to  the 
mountain  with  the  attitude  of  an  orator 
approaching  his  climax. 

"  One  thing,  gentlemen,"  he  said  im- 
pressively, "  one  thing,  which  I  venture 
to  assert  will  be  the  grandest  and  most 
unique  feature  of  the  future  Americus 
City.  Look  there,  sirs !  Captain  John- 
son, look  at  that,  sir  !" 

It  certainly  was  a  beautiful  sight,  the 
near  mountain-side,  covered  with  enor- 
mous forest  trees,  and  it  was  to  Israel  a 
strange  sight ;  for  although  very  near  at 
hand,  it  was  blue,  as  distant  mountains 
commonly  are. 

Then  also  it  seemed  to  stand  alone,  inde- 
pendently of  the  general  range,  and  to  be 
more  lofty  and  more  regular  in  outline. 
This  symmetrical  appearance  was  height- 
ened by  a  white  line,  as  though  drawn 
from  a  point  near  the  summit  perpendicu- 
larly to  the  base.  Dr.  Oldboy's  long  fore- 
finger indicated  this  peculiar  white  line. 

"  See  that  magnificent  and  unequaled 
cascade,  gentlemen  !  What  does  that 
mean  to  us  ?  It  means,  not  merely  an 
object  which  will  draw  lovers  of  the 
beautiful  from  all  quarters  of  the  earth  as 
soon   as  its  existence  becomes  published 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  2og 

abroad,  and  our  railroad  is  put  through, 
but  it  means,  here,  right  here,  within  a  rod 
of  where  we  stand  at  this  instant,  if  we 
choose  to  have  it  here,  a  fountain  !  Such 
a  fountain  as  the  world  has  never  seen — 
three  hundred  feet  high,  sirs!  Why  not? 
Nothing  to  do  but  to  lay  pipes  from  the 
source  of  that  cascade  :  that  is  all.  Three 
hundred  feet  ?  —  Five  hundred  !  Three 
thousand  !  As  much  pressure  as  the  pipes 
will  stand — that  is  the  only  limit !  I  have 
sometimes  desired,  gentlemen,  to  go 
abroad  to  see  the  Leaning  Tower ;  but 
never,  if  it  be  possible  for  us  to  enjoy  such 
wonders  as  this  fountain  at  Americus 
City !" 

The  orator  paused  to  note  the  effect  of 
this  effort.  ''  Captain  "  Johnson  seemed 
deeply  impressed.  His  gaze  was  fixed 
upon  the  mountain. 

''  Is  this  Blue  Mountain  ?"  he  asked. 

''  Yes,  captain." 

"  Then  the  proposed  site  of  Americus 
City  will  be  a  portion  of  the  Blue  Moun- 
tain ;  for  this  foot-hill  must  be  regarded 
as  part  of  the  mountain." 

The  five  Southerners  exchanged  signifi- 
cant glances. 

''  I  have  heard  very  unfavorable  reports 


210     GRA  Y:  AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

about  the  Blue  Mountain,"  Israel  con- 
tinued.    "  Is  the  climate  bad  ?" 

"As  for  climate,"  cried  Oldboy,  ''did 
you  never  hear  of  the  '  thermal  belt,'  Cap- 
tain Johnson  ?  No  ?  That  is  perhaps  the 
most  wonderful  thing  of  all.  Why,  sir, 
there  is  a  band  or  strip  or  belt  of  this  moun- 
tain, say  one  thousand  feet  in  width  and  six 
or  eight  miles  long,  in  which  there  is  never 
any  frost.  It  is  distinctly  warmer,  sir,  per- 
ceptibly warmer  than  the  land  above  or 
below.  So  much  is  this  the  case,  that  I 
have  seen,  after  a  snow  storm,  the  ground 
white  above  and  below  and  this  *  thermal 
belt '  just  as  dark  and  warm  as  ever." 
Here  he  appealed  to  his  companions,  who 
all  assented  and  seemed  deeply  inter- 
ested.' 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  mean  that  it  is 
never  cold  in  this  belt ;  but  it  is  warmer, 
a  great  deal  warmer,  than  anywhere  else 
around  here,  and  one  thing  is  certain : 
there  never  has  been  a  killing  spring-frost 
in  the  thermal  belt  in  the  forty  years  that 
I  have  lived  here.  Spring  flowers  come 
out  there  weeks  before  they  do  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain  or  any  place  fifty  miles 
south  of  that. 

''  Now,  my  theory  is,  that  some  peculiar 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  211 

quality  in  the  soil  itself  on  that  portion  of 
the  mountain  produces  these  effects.  One 
thing  is  sure,  and  that  is  that  the  climate 
there  in  the  thermal  belt  is  magnificent. 

''  Think  of  this,  Captain  Johnson : 
peaches !  Peaches,  sir,  the  great  fruit- 
crop  of  the  South,  yearly  suffer  untold 
losses  from  spring  frosts.  But  there  you 
have,  sir,  eight  miles  long  and  one  fifth  of 
a  mile  wide,  the  best  spot  in  America,  an 
area  which  should,  and  undoubtedly  will, 
be  planted  thick  with  the  choicest  peach 
trees — a  perfectly  sure  crop,  because  there 
is  no  danger  from  frosts !  So  much  for 
the  climate.  Captain  Johnson." 

''  If  the  Blue  Mountain  is  so  fertile  and 
all  that,  why  is  it  uninhabited  ?"  asked 
Israel. 

*'  Exactly  what  my  wife  says !"  Dr. 
Curesome  involuntarily  exclaimed.  *'  Some- 
thing ails  it." 

"  Fiddle-dee  !  We  will  prove  the  con- 
trary," cried  Oldboy.  ''  But  since  the 
subject  has  come  up.  Captain  Johnson,  let 
us  grant  that  there  are  foolish  stories  told 
about  this  mountain.  Let  us  look  the 
facts  in  the  face,  sir,  and  see  what  they 
amount  to.     Nothing,  sir.    Mere  idle  talk  ! 

"  The  facts  are  these  :     At  the    end  of 


212     GRA  Y:   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

the  last  century,  one  man  claimed  the 
whole  mountain  as  his  own  private  prop- 
erty under  a  grant  from  the  State.  No- 
body knew  anything  about  him, — who  he 
was  or  where  he  came  from.  He  lived  all 
alone  and  never  had  dealings  with  a  soul." 

''  Did  anybody  ever  try  to  deal  with 
him  ?"  asked  Curesome,  rather  sulkily. 

"  No,  sir  ;  and  that  was  natural  enough. 
There  was  plenty  of  land  unoccupied  ; 
and  this  old  man,  besides  his  claim  of 
right,  threatened  to  protect  himself  against 
encroachment." 

"  Did  anybody  ever  hear  of  this  old 
man's  dying?"  continued  Curesome. 

"  I  can't  say  as  they  did.  He  attained  a 
great  age,  Captain  Johnson,  and  that  does 
not  look  like  a  bad  climate,  I  should 
think.  No  :  this  old  man — a — disappeared, 
at  any  rate.  Now  my  theory  is  that  he 
went  away." 

Perhaps  because  there  was  nothing 
startling  in  this  theory,  Oldboy  paused  to 
let  it  have  all  the  effect  it  could. 

Curesome,  Miller,  Lynch  and  Owner 
shook  their  heads. 

''  An  old  man  like  that  doesn't  go  away 
until  he  goes  into  the  ground,"  said 
Lynch. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  21  J 

Curesome  asked :  ''  How  about  Jem 
Davis,  who  moved  up  onto  the  mountain- 
side after  that  ?  He  and  his  whole  family 
died  mighty  sudden." 

''  Milk-sick,  sir  !"  replied  Oldboy.  "  Un- 
doubtedly they  died  from  milk-sick,  which 
is  common  enough  among  the  mountains, 
but  which  this  man,  coming  from  the  low 
country,  did  not  know  how  to  guard 
against."  And  then  the  unconquerable 
Oldboy  explained  for  Israel's  benefit  that 
'*  milk-sick "  was  a  disease  which  cattle 
contracted  if  they  were  not  kept-up  at 
the  proper  times,  and  which  rendered 
their  milk  poisonous. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  was  milk-sick.  I 
have  lived  too  near  this  cursed  mountain 
and  too  long  already.  I  never  had  any 
luck  sence  I  came  here,"  objected  Squire 
Lynch. 

Oldboy  had  worked  himself  up  to  fever 
heat  in  his  defense  of  the  scheme.  Now 
he  turned  threateningly  upon  Lynch  and 
his  voice  trembled  with  excitement  as  he 
cried  : 

"  You  are  a " 

"  Stop,  Oldboy  !  VVhy,^  what  are  you 
thinking  about,  Lynch  ?  I  propose,  gen- 
tlemen, that  we  adjourn  for  to-day.     Old- 


214     GRA  Y:  AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

boy,  you  ride  with  me.  I  want  you  to  try 
some  Madeira  wine  which  I  have  just  re- 
ceived from  Charleston."  With  these 
words  Colonel  Owner  separated  the  two 
angry  men  and  the  session  of  founders 
stood  adjourned. 

Israel  remained  with  Squire  Lynch,  who 
was  hospitality  personified. 

Israel  had  seen  enough. 

It  was  evident  that  the  scheme  would 
fall  through  of  itself  if  these  five  movers 
in  it  should  come  to  blows. 

Meantime,  the  doubts  which  he  himself 
had  suggested  would  retard  it. 

He  decided  that  the  scheme  must  not 
only  fail,  but  with  such  terrible  emphasis 
fail,  that  no  one  ever  again  would  attempt 
to  dwell  near  the  Blue  Mountain  and  spy 
his  going  out  and  coming  in. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  may  have  to  do ; 
but  I  certainly  do  not  care  to  be  watched," 
said  Israel. 

As  for  these  five  planters,  he  saw  evi- 
dence enough,  of  their  hot  temper  and  law- 
less spirit.  Living  in  this  remote  district, 
they  were  almost  beyond  reach  of  the  law, 
whether  to  be  defended  by  it  or  punished 
by   it.     As   a   natural    consequence,   each 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  2IJ 

strong  man  took  the  law  into  his  own 
hands  and  not  ^infrequently  made  himself 
judge,  jury  and  executioner  in  his  own 
cause. 

Israel  decided,  therefore,  to  make  them 
exterminate  themselves,  by  setting  one 
against  another. 


CHAPTER  X 

N  accordance  with  the  hospitable 
custom  of  the  country,  Captain 
Johnson  had  received  warm  and 
cordial  invitations  to  visit  at  the 
houses  in  the  neighborhood.  These  invi- 
tations he  promptly  availed  himself  of  and 
entered  into  the  fox-hunting  or  poker  par- 
ties with  that  spirit  which  always  dis- 
tinguished him. 

His  companion  in  all  excursions  was  a 
son  of  his  host,  Dal  Lynch, — a  young  fel- 
low who  was  looked  upon  as  a  scapegrace, 
even  by  this  graceless  community. 

Dal  Lynch  and  Israel  being  thus  thrown 
constantly  together,  the  impulsive  young 
Southerner  disclosed  his  secrets,  especially 
his  secret  griefs,  to  Israel  as  to  the  only 
respectable  person  who  showed  him  kind- 
ness. The  boy  was  only  wild, — not  bad- 
hearted. 

It  so  happened,  about  three  weeks  after 
the  scene  last  described,  that  Israel  let  fall 
a  careless,  bantering  suggestion.  Dal  had 
told  him  that  he  was  in  great  need  of  a 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  21'j 

considerable  sum  of  money  for  a  partic- 
ular purpose.  (Dai's  purposes  were  not 
always  mentionable.)  He  must  have  it, 
he  said,  and  the  old  man  had  refused  him. 
''  You  know  that  all  I  have  with  me  is 
promised  for  this  land-speculation,"  said 
Israel.  ''  But,  cheer  up,  man  !  Why 
don't  you  gamble  for  it  ?  That's  the  way 
Billy  Miller  gets  his  pocket-mone}^" 

"  I  can't  take  the  risk.  I  have  no  luck." 
''Then  take  the  money  without  risk," 
said  Israel.  ''  Colonel  Owner  won  al- 
most a  thousand  dollars  to-day  at  draw- 
poker.  It  was  the  biggest  haul  of  the 
season  and  your  father  lost  more  than  any 
one  else.  Take  that.  What  difference  it 
makes  whether  you  take  money  from 
another  man  because  you  hold  a  higher 
card,  or  because  you  are  stronger  or 
cleverer  than  he,  I  can't  see  for  the  life  of 
me.  But  seriously,  Dal,  3^ou  people  living 
out  here  in  the  country  ought  to  be  more 
careful  about  locking  up  your  doors  and 
windows  at  night.  I  should  be  willing  to 
take  that  purse  from  Owner's  room  this 
very  night  myself,  just  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing  —  and  of  course  laugh  with  him 
about  it  to-morrow."  And  then  he  went 
on  speaking  about  indifferent  matters. 


2l8    GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

A  day  or  two  afterwards,  Israel  and 
Dal,  with  rifles  and  dogs,  were  tramping 
over  White  Oak  Hill.  They  had  been 
shooting  squirrels  and  Israel's  game  bag 
was  quite  well  filled  ;  but  Dal  appeared  to 
take  no  interest,  although  he  was  usu- 
ally a  keen  sportsman  and  a  crack  shot. 
He  was  drinking  at  short  intervals  from  a 
large  pocket-flask  containing  the  villain- 
ous corn-whisky  called  "  Mountain  Dew." 

"  What's  up,  Dal  ?"  cried  Israel.  "  You're 
as  melancholy  as  Dr.  Curesome  at  home !" 

The  young  Southerner  leaned  upon  his 
long  rifle  and  replied  with  a  husky  voice : 

*'  I  reckon  I've  drank  too  much  to  shoot 
straight  to-day,  captain.  I — I — sit  down  : 
I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Israel  complied  and  Dal  proceeded : 

*'  That  money  burns  my  pocket." 

''  What  money,  Dal  ?" 

"  You  said  you  could  take  Owner's  cash 
out  of  his  bed-room." 

''  I  was  joking,  Dal :  that  you  know 
very  well,"  said  Israel,  sternly. 

''  I  did  it,"  said  Dal  Lynch. 

"  What !  you  took  Owner's  money  ?" 

''  Yes,  I  stole  it  and  it  burns  in  my 
pocket,  I  tell  you  !"  groaned  Dal.  '*  What 
shall  I  do  ?" 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  2IQ 

''  Give  it  back,"  said  Israel  promptly. 

"  You  know  I  can't  do  that.     I  dursn't." 

'*  Then  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

"  But  they'll  be  coming !  I  believe 
they'll  be  there  when  we  get  home." 

"Who?" 

'■'  All  the  neighbors.  Owner  will  get 
them  all  together  and  come  after  me !" 

*^  How  does  he  know  you  did  it  ?" 

"  He  sent  word  to  everybody  this  morn- 
ing that  he'd  been  robbed  and  to  come 
and  help  him  catch  the  burglar,  only  not 
to  father.     He  must  suspect  me." 

''  The  squire  and  the  colonel  had  a 
quarrel  yesterday.  That's  probably  the 
reason  why  he  didn't  send  to  your  house," 
Israel  suggested. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Dal,  greatly 
relieved.  "  What  would  you  do  if  you 
was  me  ?" 

"  I  am  not  you." 

"  Oh,  help  a  fellow,  Captain  Johnson ! 
What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  I  have  told  you  already.  If  you  can't 
do  that,  go  straight  to  Colonel  Owner 
and  offer  your  services." 

"  What !     Run  right  in  his  way  ?" 

"  That  will  look  as  though  you  were 
innocent.    Then  when  the  affair  has  blown 


220     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

over,  you    can   give   the   money   back  in 
some  other  way." 

With  drunken,  foolish  gratitude  Dal 
thanked  Israel ;  then  made  the  best  of  his 
way  to  the  stable,  saddled  his  horse  and 
rode  to  Colonel  Owner's  plantation. 

Very  naturally  the  colonel's  suspicion 
was  aroused  by  this  unprecedented  dis- 
play of  zeal  for  justice,  on  the  part  of  a 
notorious  scapegrace.  He  therefore  ques- 
tioned Dal,  and  receiving  incoherent, 
evasive  answers,  ordered  a  negro  to 
search  his  person. 

Dal  resisted,  and  in  the  struggle  his 
light  jacket  was  torn  from  his  back ;  he 
escaped,  rode  wildly  back  to  his  father's 
house ;  several  of  the  stolen  bills  were 
found  in  the  pocket  of  his  jacket. 

Owner  collected  his  neighbors.  Cure- 
some,  Oldboy  and  Miller ;  with  these  and 
his  male  slaves,  all  armed,  rode  up  before 
Squire  Lynch's  mansion  and  demanded 
the  culprit. 

Squire  Lynch  appeared  on  the  thresh- 
old. His  face  was  very  pale  and  he  held 
a  shot-gun  in  his  hand. 

''  Don't  you  come  any  nearer,  gentle- 
men !"  he  said. 

Colonel    Owner   raised    his   rifle  to  his 


MRS.  EATON'S    VERSION  221 

shoulder ;  but  Israel  stood  in  front  of  his 
host  to  screen  him. 

"  Stand  aside,  Captain  Johnson  !  We 
don't  mean  any  harm  to  you,"  commanded 
Oldboy. 

"  This  is  hardly  a  fair  fight,"  said  Israel, 
coolly. 

Squire  Lynch  used  the  opportunity 
which  this  diversion  gave  him,  to  raise 
his  gun  and  fire. 

Colonel  Owner  fell  forward  upon  his 
horse's  neck.  That  startled  animal  dashed 
away  down  the  red-clay  road,  dragging 
his  mortally-wounded  master,  whose  foot 
was  caught  in  the  stirrup.  There  was  a 
stampede  of  the  negroes. 

Before  Lynch  could  enter  the  house. 
Miller  took  deliberate  aim  and  shot  him 
through  the  breast.  The  squire's  life- 
blood  stained  his  own  threshold.  That 
was  the  end  of  his  bad  luck  near  the  Blue 
Mountain. 

Then  Oldboy,  Miller  and  Curesome 
rushed  into  the  house,  tracking  blood  up 
the  stairs,  and  seized  Dal  Lynch.  Fear  of 
death  was  written  on  the  boy's  face  ;  yet, 
as  he  was  being  hurried  out,  he  caught 
sight  of  Israel  and  cried  : 

"  If  I  had  done  what  you  tole  me " 

26 


222     GRAY:  AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

They  took  him  away  into  the  forest  on 
the  mountain-side.  Where  justice  is  un- 
certain, punishments  are  excessive. 

Israel's  preparations  had  been  made  in 
advance,  and  he  now  in  turn  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  away  from  the  ill-starred 
house. 

The  subsequent  history  of  "  Americus 
City  "  may  be  given  in  a  very  few  words. 

After  the  death  of  Owner  and  Lynch, 
Oldboy  came  to  the  front,  laid  out  streets 
and  pressed  the  enterprise  as  well  as  he 
could.  A  large  brick  jail  was  erected 
upon  the  central  square ;  but  nothing 
further  was  accomplished. 

No  "  citizens  "  offered  themselves.  The 
place  had  acquired  an  evil  name. 

To-day  it  is  as  Horace  Penman  saw  it. 
Squire  Lynch's  house  is  a  dismal  ruin,  and 
only  three  or  four  wretched  hovels,  occu- 
pied by  still  more  wretched,  shiftless  folk 
(enough  however  to  supply  the  jail  with 
an  occasional  prisoner)  mark  the  spot  and 
offend  the  eye. 

As  for  the  railway,  the  war  came  to 
postpone  industrial  projects  ;  and  after  the 
war  came  a  new  generation  of  legislators 
who  had  never  interested  themselves  in 
this  route. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  223 

As  for  the  surviving  projectors,  Miller 
had  been  killed  while  fighting  bravely  at 
the  head  of  his  regiment,  at  the  battle  of 

Bull  Run,  by  a  sergeant  of  Company , 

Connecticut  volunteers.  This  sergeant's 
name  was  Ezekiel  H.  Perkins.  Mr.  Pen- 
man was  first-lieutenant  in  the  same  com- 
pany. Oldboy  and  Curesome  had  lost 
their  wealth  in  losing  their  slaves. 


CHAPTER  XI 

LITTLE-USED  road,  a  mere 
''track,"  led  from  Americus  to 
the  foot  of  the  Blue  Mountain. 
There  it  turned  aside,  turned  to 
the  westward,  as  though  to  avoid  crossing 
unhallowed  territory. 

Israel  followed  this  road  to  the  turning 
and  there,  unaffected  by  those  scruples 
which  had  actuated  other  travelers,  struck 
right  through  the  woods  toward  the  sum- 
mit. 

At  the  base  of  the  mountain  were  pine, 
gum  and  oak  trees — pines  predominating. 
Further  up  the  slope  these  gave  place  to 
a  magnificent  growth  in  which  deciduous 
trees  were  the  more  numerous. 

The  fauna  also  changed.  During  the 
first  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  of  ascent, 
there  was  an  abundance  of  animal  life. 
Rabbits,  lizards,  snakes,  birds  of  all  kinds, 
startled  by  this  intruder,  sprang  or  crawl- 
ed or  flew  away  before  him.  Above,  all 
became  silent.     Either  such   creatures  as 


MRS.   EA  TON'S    VERSION  22^ 

these  were  not  there,  or  they  were  hidden 
and  did  not  show  themselves.  • 

But  the  most  notable  change  was  in  the 
character  of  the  soil  and  undergrowth. 
Red  clay  and  white  sand,  white  sand  and 
red  clay, — bare,  save  here  and  there  a  tuft 
of  spear-grass — had  been  the  story.  Now  a 
dark,  rich  mould  gave  nourishment  to 
flourishing  rhododendrons  and  laurels  and 
azaleas  and  columbine.  Vines  clad  the 
stately  trunks  of  giant  trees  with  soft  ver- 
dure,— vines  like  great  cables,  like  threads 
of  silk,  like  a  mistress,  strangling  with  her 
passions  and  exactions  yet  caressing  with 
the  tendrils  of  her  pretty  graces. 

This  change  from  barrenness  to  fertility 
became  more  marked  at  one  point.  It  was 
not  as  though  a  line  had  been  drawn  or  a 
wall  raised  between  a  garden  and  a  desert 
— the  transition  was  less  sharply  marked 
than  that — yet  at  this  point  Israel  said  : 
Here  begins  the  peculiarity  of  this  moun- 
tain. Below  this  there  is  nothing  good  for 
me. 

Then  he  became  conscious  of  a  great 
heat  and  heaviness  in  the  air.  This  effect 
might  be  due  partly  to  the  absence  of  the 
sounds  of  animal  life  and  to  the  dense 
foliage,  intercepting  all  motion  of  a  breeze  ; 


226     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

but  not  entirely  to  these  causes.  The 
warmth  seemed  to  steal  or  steam  out  from 
the  black  earth, — to  proceed  from  the 
mountain  itself  in  part  and  not  merely 
from  the  sun. 

Israel  advanced  through  this  semi-tropi- 
cal belt  until  he  arrived  at  its  upper 
boundary.  Here  the  line  of  verdure  was 
even  more  distinctly  marked,  contrasting 
strangely  with  the  scant  and  hardy  growth 
which  clothed  the  bleak  rocks  of  the  windy 
summit. 

"  So  then,"  he  said,  ''  this  famous  '  ther- 
mal-belt '  stretches  along  the  whole  moun- 
tain side,  girdling  it,  naturally  enough.  It 
is  the  result  of  reflection  from  the  south- 
ern plain,  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  and 
protection  from  northern  winds :  these 
three  combined.  No  mystery  about  it 
whatever.  .  .  .  And  yet  the  place  does 
seem  more  than  naturally  quiet  and  more 
than  naturally  hot." 

Through  the  more  practicable  upper 
spaces  above  the  thermal  belt,  with  that 
lightness  of  heart  which  rewards  the 
mountain-climber  when  he  reaches  the 
purer,  rarer  atmosphere  on  the  heights, 
Israel  made  his  way  joyfully.  He  had 
planned  his  course  so  as  to  reach  the  falls 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  227 

at  the  foot  of  the  first  cascade,  and  already 
the  sound  of  rushing  waters  came  to  his 
ears  through  the  stillness. 

''  Now  here,"  said  he,  pausing  and  look- 
ing down  upon  the  great  forest  which 
stretched  away  to  meet  the  horizon,  "if 
one  were  a  hermit,  here  would  be  a  good 
spot  for  a  house." 

"  I  'lowed  it  wor  pretty  nigh  right,"  said 
someone  close  behind  him. 

Israel  turned  like  a  flash  in  the  direction 
from  which  the  voice  proceeded  and  cock- 
ed his  gun. 

*'  Don't  shoot,  stranger,  don't  yer  now. 
I  'low  there's  plenty  ter  eat  outer  this 
mounting  Avithout  yer  eatin'  me."  This 
was  said  in  a  persuasive,  wheedling 
way. 

The  speaker  was  the  type  of  the  North 
Carolina  mountaineer,  but  with  all  the 
characteristics  exaggerated.  His  body 
was  even  longer  and  leaner,  his  trousers 
scarcely  occupied  by  his  thin  shanks,  his 
shoulders  even  more  slouched,  his  face 
more  sallow  and  more  expressionless,  his 
hat-brim  wider.  At  the  same  time  there 
was  a  certain  sly,  observant  look  scarce 
perceptible  in  his  eyes,  as  he  leaned  against 
the  half-decayed  trunk  of  an  oak  tree  and 


228    GRA  Y:   AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

waited  for  Israel  to  recover  from  his  sur- 
prise. 

He  looked  as  though  he  would  willingly 
Avait  and  observe  for  a  hundred  years. 

"  How  did  I  pass  you  by  without  seeing 
you  ?"  Israel  demanded. 

"  I  'lowed  ye  wor  studyin'  about  some- 
thing mighty  earnest." 

"  1  thought  there  was  no  one  on  the 
mountain." 

''  I  live  hyah." 

"  How  long  ?" 

"  I  disremember." 

''Oh,  come!  About  how  long?"  cried 
Israel,  raising  his  voice. 

"  Waal,  sence  ye  wor  hyah  before" 

"  I  have  never  been  here  before." 

That  sly  look  in  the  mountaineer's  eyes 
became  more  distinct  as  he  explained  : 
"■  Ye  come  from  yon  side,  'tother  side, 
over  the  top  of  this  mounting." 

"  Bah  !  I  tell  you  I  never  saw  you  be- 
fore in  my  life." 

"•  Ye  wouldn't  hev  seen  me  this  time  ef 
I  hedn't  spoke,"  the  mountaineer  said ; 
then  adding  :  ''  An'  I  wouldn't  hev  spoke 
ef  I  hedn't  knowed  ye  by  that  thar  mark 
outer  yer  cheek." 

Israel  controlled  his  anger  sufficiently 


MRS.  EATON'S    VERSION  22g 

to  ask  :  ''  How  long  ago  was  it  that  you 
saw  me?" 

''  I  tol'  you  I  disremember.  Erbout  sixty 
or  eighty  year,  'peers  ter  me." 

''Craz}^"  said  Israel,  half  aloud;  then 
contemptuously  :  ''  Next  time  I  pass,  don't 
you  dodge  behind  trees.  Just  let  me  hear 
you  speak,  or  I  may  shoot  you  like  a  rab- 
bit !" 

So  Israel  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 
away  towards  the  falls. 

He  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  first  cas- 
cade, as  he  had  intended.  Standing  there 
and  looking  up,  he  could  see  how  the 
water  poured  over  the  cliff,  at  first  in  a 
solid  mass,  then  was  torn  into  shreds,  then 
these  into  drops,  and  these  drops  subdivid- 
ed into  fine  spray.  It  fell  so  softly  and 
was  so  tempting  !  He  put  off  his  clothes 
and  stood  under  this  bath  ;  then  plunged 
into  the  deep  pool  which  received  all  the 
water  and  held  it  for  a  moment,  whirling 
around  and  foaming,  before  it  took  the 
second  leap  downwards. 

Emerging  from  this  delicious  bath,  he 
saw  through  the  rank  growth  the  roof  of 
a  building  within  stone's-throw. 

He  could  scarcely  trust  his  eyes. 

''  That  was  not  there  a  moment  ago  !" 


2SO     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

he  exclaimed.  ''  But,  pshaw  !  I  passed  that 
crazy  beast  of  a  mountaineer  without  see- 
ing him  :  why  not  fail  to  discover  a  house  ? 
I  don't  recognize  myself  in  this.  .  .  .  But 
I  am  no  worse  than  my  ancestor  with  his 
story  of  a  sleeping  figure  in  the  cave,  who 
had  not  been  there  when  he  went  in." 

In  a  moment  he  was  dressed  ;  then  he 
forced  his  way  through  the  tangled  under- 
brush to  the  house. 

This  might  have  dropped  from  above  or 
sprung  up  from  the  soil ;  for  there  was  no 
clearing  about  it.  It  was  built  of  unhewn 
logs,  like  the  trunks  of  the  surrounding 
trees  except  for  being  laid  horizontally. 

The  mountaineer  sat  in  the  doorway, 
waiting  and  observing  as  before. 

Israel  went  straight  up  to  him  and  told 
him  that,  as  he  meant  to  pass  a  few  days 
on  the  mountain,  for  the  sake  of  the  game 
which  he  supposed  must  be  very  abund- 
ant, he  would  be  glad  of  this  shelter. 

He  neither  would  have  consented  to  re- 
ceive, nor  did  he  receive,  a  refusal. 

Such  was  the  spirit  in  which  this  strange 
association  of  Israel  with  the  mountaineer 
began :  the  former  contemptuous  and 
domineering,  the  latter  watchful  and  ap- 
parently passive. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  23 1 

But  in  the  course  of  the  very  first  day 
there  came  a  change.  It  is  our  privilege 
to  follow  this  change  both  in  its  outward 
manifestations  and  as  a  secret  growth 
within  the  minds  of  the  two  actors. 

In  the  course  of  the  first  day  which 
they  spent  together,  Israel  began  to  take 
an  inexplicable  interest  in  this  uncouth 
companion.  When  he  had  ascended  the 
mountain,  his  mind  had  been  filled  with 
one  thought  and  one  desire — to  find  the 
ancient  mine ;  now,  in  spite  of  himself, 
this  man  claimed  a  share  in  his  thoughts 
and  desires. 

Israel  was  as  quick  to  form  determina- 
tions as  he  was  resolute  in  executing  them. 
No  sooner,  therefore,  had  he  realized  the 
fact  just  noted  than  he  decided  that  this 
man's  presence  was  not  purely  accidental. 
Presently  he  acknowledged  to  himself  that 
this  interest  in  the  personality  of  an  unat- 
tractive being  was  absorbing  into  itself 
his  eagerness  to  possess  the  treasure. 
Then  he  saw  that  this  man  was  to  be  his 
instrument  or  agent. 

We  may  quietly  reason  this  out  and  find 
that  his  conclusion  was  theoreticall}^  just  ; 
but  Israel's  inference  was  immediate,  he 
trusted  it  and  acted  upon  it. 


232     GRAY:   AM  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

In  this  connection  it  is  to  be  noted  also 
that  the  mountaineer  did  not  remain  en- 
tirely passive. 

There  is  apparently  a  sentiment  of  hos- 
pitality, and  at  least  a  very  slight  sense  of 
the  duties  of  a  host  which  cannot  be  eradi- 
cated from  the  breast  of  that  social  animal, 
Man. 

This  recluse,  then,  showed  an  unexpect- 
ed promptness  in  calling  Israel's  attention 
to  the  sights  of  the  mountain.  He  began 
to  tell  his  guest  that  this  climate  and  soil 
were  especially  favorable  to  one  variety 
of  fruit  which  was,  indeed,  produced  else- 
where, but  nowhere  in  such  perfection. 
A  single,  but  especially  fine  and  beautiful, 
specimen  was  now  to  be  seen.  Would 
Israel  like  to  go  a  short  distance  to  enjoy 
it? 

The  two  went  together  down  the  moun- 
tain to  the  lower  boundary  of  the  thermal 
belt.  There  grew  a  superb  magnolia  tree, 
towering  above  its  fellows  and  conspicu- 
ous from  afar,  with  its  dome  of  dark  green, 
glossy  leaves,  ''  thick  inlaid  "  with  great 
starry  flowers  whose  fragrance  made  the 
still  air  heavy  with  sweetness. 

''  Thar,  outer  yon  side,  'tother  side," 
drawled  the  guide. 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  2JJ 

Israel's  curiosity  was  thoroughly  arous- 
ed and  he  went  alone  to  the  farther  side 
of  the  magnolia,  while  the  mountaineer 
stood  watching  him. 

There,  close  before  his  face,  hanging 
from  a  blossom-laden  branch  of  the  mag- 
nolia, was  the  body  of  Dal  Lynch. 

"  Ernother  one  is  a-ripening  onter  this 
mounting,"  said  Israel's  host. 

But  the  mountaineer  did  not  allow  his 
hospitable  cares  to  interrupt  habitual  oc- 
cupations. So,  for  instance,  Israel  observ- 
ed him  heaping  dried  leaves  and  twigs 
upon  a  large  ant-hill,  swarming  with  these 
busy  workers  ;  then  kindling  this  nicely 
laid  fire  and  watching  the  destruction  of 
the  ant-community  with  silent  satisfaction. 

Upon  inquiring  the  cause  of  this  pro- 
ceeding, Israel  learned  that  his  host  de- 
voted a  large  portion  of  each  day  to  the 
extermination  of  animals  of  all  kinds.  He 
hoped  in  time  to  enjoy  a  rare  pleasure  in 
being  the  only  remaining  living  creature 
upon  the  Blue  Mountain. 

Israel  gave  him  the  name  Guardian  from 
the  following  circumstance: 

He  had  the  habit  of  sitting  where  the 

stream  issues  from  the  mountain   side, 

sitting   motionless,  muttering  to   himself, 


234     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

but  refusing  to  speak  to  Israel  when  at 
that  spot. 

Israel  recalled  the  legend  heard  from 
the  Indian  chief  and  began  to  invest  this 
homely  figure  with  a  web  of  romance. 
There  was  a  certain  majesty  in  the  Guar- 
dian's bearing  while  he  sat  there  so  quietly. 
If  this  was  lent  him  by  his  surroundings, 
at  least  it  was  borrowed  majesty,  and  not 
something  meaner. 

This  impression  Israel  tried  to  laugh  at 
in  order  to  cure  the  fancy  by  laughing. 

"  The  source  of  this  stream  of  sparkling 
water,"  he  said,  speaking  to  himself,  "is 
perchance  that  fountain  of  immortal  youth 
which  the  first  adventurers  who  came  to 
America  believed  in  so  firmly.  This  dried- 
up  nondescript  is  then  all  that  is  left  of 
the  last  Indian  Prince,  or  say  a  disguise 
which  he  has  assumed  for  my  amusement. 
Has  he  put  away  my  ancestor — (Curesome 
says  he  did  not  die)^stowed  him  aw^ay  in 
the  cave  somewhere  ?  That  would  be  a 
happy  thought !  The  old  gentleman  would 
wish  to  die,  yet  find  himself  kept  pro- 
vokingly  young  by  the  virtue  of  this 
fountain !" 

But  the  laugh  was  not  very  merry  and 
the  fancy  remained  in  all  its  force.     Here 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  2JS 

was  a  new  sensation  for  Israel.  This 
being,  in  his  inscrutableness  and  savage 
independence,  was  the  first  he  had  ever 
met  whom  he  must  acknowledge  to  be  in 
any  sense  superior  to  himself.  This  feel- 
ing was  quite  as  unbearable  as  was  the 
restraint  imposed  by  the  presence  of  the 
mountaineer  at  the  very  point  where 
Israel's  long  search  was  to  terminate.  He 
was  in  the  way  and  must  be  removed. 

And  yet  it  seemed  that  he  would  in 
some  manner  aid  Israel  to  discover  the 
treasure.  How?  How  could  he  be  at 
the  same  time  an  obnoxious  impediment 
and  the  very  agent  of  the  discovery  ? 

"  Very  simply,"  Israel  replied  to  his 
own  question.  ''  The  discovery  is  bound 
together  with  his  death." 


CHAPTER  XII 

HITS  it  seemed  to  Israel  that  as 
the  inconvenience  of  the  Guar- 
dian's presence  increased  and  be- 
came oppressive,  a  certain  fear- 
ful suggestion  became  more  distinct,  took 
definite  shape  in  his  mind  and  insisted 
upon  being  felt  and  heard  at  all  times. 

The  image  of  death  was  everywhere — 
in  the  stillness  of  this  desolated  forest,  in 
the  ambiguous  words  as  in  the  long  fits  of 
silence  of  this  man  of  the  Blue  Mountain. 
It  became  familiar,  and  it  was  no  longer 
shocking  when  it  had  become  quite  fa- 
miliar. 

Was  this  mysterious  being  deliberately 
educating  Israel  to  become  his  murderer? 
Whether  with  design  or  by  accident, 
everything  he  said  or  did  contributed  to 
the  murderous  resolve  steadily  growing  in 
Israel's  breast. 

Of  course  our  adventurer  attempted,  at 
first  by  indirect  methods  and  then  by 
direct  questions,  to  obtain  the  desired  in- 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  2jy 

formation.  In  this  effort  he  was  foiled  by 
the  irritating,  stupid  silence  of  his  host, 
who  affected  not  to  understand  his  ques- 
tions. 

Meantime  he  searched  for  the  legendary 
entrance  to  the  mine,  with  as  little  success. 

It  could  not  be  the  present  issue  of  the 
stream,  for  here  the  stream  filled  the  cavity 
from  which  it  proceeded. 

He  conjectured  that  the  underground 
current  had  changed  its  bed  and  examined 
the  rocks  above,  below  and  to  a  distance 
on  either  side  of  the  present  cascade. 

Diligence  and  persuasion  failing,  Israel 
resolved  to  try  the  effect  of  terror  upon 
the  mountaineer. 

It  was  plain  to  him  that  his  own  life 
depended  upon  success  in  this  one  effort. 
The  fate  which  had  overtaken  every  crea- 
ture who  had  come  within  the  influence 
of  the  mountain,  or  some  deadly  spirit 
ruling  the  territory  of  the  mountain,  he 
felt  was  drawing  near  to  himself. 

His  spirit  became  feverish  and  he  was 
haunted  by  strange  fancies.  Among  these 
the  most  persistent  was  that  his  ancestor 
had  lacked  courage  and  strength  to  over- 
come the  Guardian  and  had  remained  as 
his  thrall  upon  the  Blue  Mountain. 

27 


238    GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

So  then  one  day  Israel  addressed  the 
Guardian  who  was  sitting  absorbed  in 
thought  at  the  source  of  the  torrent. 
Receiving  no  answer,  he  seized  him  by  the 
throat  and  threatened  to  wring  his  neck. 

Still  no  answer. 

Then,  wild  with  passion  and  stung  with 
disappointment,  he  raised  his  tormentor 
bodily  above  his  head  and  dashed  him  to 
the  earth  again. 

The  mountaineer  lay  motionless,  but  his 
eyes  were  open  and  his  lips  moved. 

Israel  bent  over  him,  clutched  him  with 
his  right  hand  and  with  his  left  pointed 
over  the  cliff. 

"  Tell  me  what  I  need  to  know,  or " 

A  terrible  gesture  filled  out  the  sense. 

Then  the  Guardian  said,  but  without 
fear,  that  there  was  a  great  treasure  very 
near  to  them ;  even  as  there  is  such  treas- 
ure everywhere  that  men  live.  There  was 
a  great  curse,  he  said,  resting  upon  the 
possessor  thereof, — so  fearful  a  curse  that 
its  possession  could  not  advantage  any 
person  who  retained  human  affections. 
By  a  single  act  of  true  generosity  the 
hoard  would  be  sacrificed  and  lost  forever. 

He  further  said  that  Israel  was  not  yet 
worthy  to  possess  it,  inasmuch  as  he  had 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  2JQ 

still  some  generosity  in  his  nature.  Was 
Israel  ready  to  commit  murder  deliberately 
in  order  to  gain  the  secret  of  the  treasure  ? 

"  Whom  should  I  murder?" 

Anyone  standing  in  his  way. 

''  Oh,  that  is  not  necessary !  There's 
plenty  to  eat  on  this  mountain  without  my 
eating  you,  as  you  yourself  said." 

The  Guardian  looked  at  him  long  and 
earnestly ;  then  his  head  sunk  upon  his 
breast  and  he  would  speak  no  more  nor 
raise  his  eyes  from  the  ground. 

''  '  Deliberately',  you  dismal  fool !"  cried 
Israel.  "  '  Deliberately' !  You  would  have 
me  do  the  thing  deliberately,  my  fine 
mummy,  my  excellent  petrified  prince  !  I 
know  a  gayly  worth  two  of  your  deliber- 
atelies.  Wait  here  for  me,  my  lean  and 
drawling  bag  of  bones!"  With  that  he 
descended  to  the  cabin,  shouting  aloud 
whatever  came  into  his  mind,  for  the  in- 
formation of  the  silent  man  above. 

'*  I  am  going  for  the  spade.  That  will 
do  for  both  purposes.  Jem  Davis'  spade  ! 
You  told  me  how  he  came  to  settle  on 
this  mountain  with  his  wife  and  children 
and  buried  them  all  with  this  spade  a  few 
days  afterwards.  Then  he  died  on  the 
last  mound  and  you  took  the  spade.    Here 


240     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

it  is.  Yes,  it  is  strong  and  will  do  for  both 
uses ! 

''  Here  I  am.  Look  up  !  No  ?  Have 
you  anything  more  to  say  ?  Take  your 
own  time.  There's  no  hurry.  '  Deliber- 
ately', you  know.  That  was  rather  a  fine 
word  for  a  stupid  who  can't  even  answer 
when  he's  spoken  to. 

''You  do  not  answer?     Well  then 

Understand  that  I  am  not  angry  or  in  the 
least  excited.  If  you  object  to  the  way  I 
propose  to  do  it,  please  say  so  now.  No  ? 
Well  then " 

The  spade  descended  swiftly  upon  the 
bowed  head.     Once  only. 

Half  its  work  was  done. 

The  other  half  required  more  time. 

Israel  drove  the  spade  into  the  loose 
gravel  which  evidently  had  been  brought 
by  the  swift  current  from  within  the 
mountain.  Below  this  stratum  he  found  a 
sufficient  depth  of  earth  only  in  one  spot, 
immediately  below  a  huge  boulder  form- 
ing one  side  of  the  aperture  which  gave 
passage  to  the  torrent. 

''  Sit  there,  old  earth-worm",  he  shouted, 
propping  the  body  against  this  boulder,  as 
he  had  so  often  seen  the  Guardian  place 
himself.     "  Sit  there  and  watch  me  build  a 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  241 

snug  little  house  for  you.  It  shall  fit  you 
as  a  snail-shell  fits  the  snail."  And  he 
fell  to  work  with  the  spade,  still  laughing 
and  speaking  to  the  dead  mountaineer  as 
though  the  latter  could  hear  and  see. 

"  There  now  !  There  is  room  for  your 
empty  head.  .  .  .  And  that  will  do  for 
your  spindle  shanks.  .  .  .  One  more  spade- 
ful for  your  knob  and  two  for  your  heels. 
.  .  .  So" — measuring  with  his  eye  the  limp 
figure  and  the  narrow  trench  he  had  ex- 
cavated— "  That  will  fit  you  better  than 
your  skin  and  last  you  longer.  In  you 
go" — throwing  the  body  into  the  grave 
and  beginning  to  cover  it  with  earth. 

Only  the  face  remained  uncovered  when 
Israel  paused  in  the  work  and  leaning 
upon  his  spade  once  more  questioned  his 
victim,  who  seemed  no  more  inscrutable 
now  in  death  than  he  had  been  in  life. 

"  Last  chance,  old  toad,  before  I  shut 
you  up  for  good  and  all !  Will  you  answer 
now  ?" 

The  loosened  earth  was  stirred  as  though 
the  dead  man  had  essayed  to  rise.  Then 
the  figure  sunk  as  in  a  quicksand ;  the 
countenance  with  its  staring  eyes  disap- 
peared beneath  the  water  which  now  burst 
through  the  walls  of   the  grave  and  filled 


242     GRAY:  AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

it  to  the  brim ;  there  was  a  grinding, 
rumbling  sound  above. 

Israel  sprang  aside  not  an  instant  too 
soon. 

The  great  boulder  beneath  which  the 
trench  had  been  dug,  thus  undermined  and 
deprived  of  part  of  its  support,  broke  away 
from  the  mountain-side  and  dashed  over  the 
cliff,  followed  by  a  shower  of  smaller  stones. 

Israel's  wild  gayety  passed  all  bounds 
as  he  watched  the  course  of  the  avalanche, 
which  carried  away  the  cabin  and  stormed 
forwards,  downwards,  mowing  a  great 
swath  through  the  forest  until,  far  below, 
its  rage  was  spent  and  all  grew  still  where 
that  gigantic  magnolia  which  bore  such 
awful  fruit  lifted  its  pyramid  of  dark  leaves 
and  starry  flowers  high  above  the  neigh- 
boring trees. 

He  laughed  and  shouted  and  waved  his 
arms,  encouraging  its  progress ;  crying 
that  at  last  he  was  alone,  that  not  a  sign 
of  life  remained  upon  the  mountain  and 
that  now  the  fiend  himself  dare  not  come 
between  him  and  the  thing  he  sought. 

Then  suddenly  it  flashed  through  his 
brain  that  he  had  expected  the  discovery 
to  be  immediately  connected  with  the 
Guardian's  death. 


MRS.  EATON'S    VERSION  243 

He  faced  about  and  saw  that  the  grave 
was  covered  by  debris  and  that,  where  the 
boulder  had  been,  a  low  and  narrow  open- 
ing gave  admission  to  a  gloomy  passage 
which  seemed  to  lead  inward  towards  the 
heart  of  the  mountain. 

He  sprang  forward  quickly,  as  though 
fearing  it  might  close  again  before  he 
could  reach  it. 

Along  the  bed  of  the  swift  stream,  the 
current  tugging  at  his  feet  to  force  him 
back,  over  the  slippery  rocks,  through  the 
darkness,  he  rushed  along  upwards,  in- 
wards, shouting  above  the  noise  of  the 
torrent  a  challenge  to  all  the  devils  to  stop 
him  if  they  could. 

Then  he  reached  a  point  where  the 
stream  ceased  to  be  turbulent.  It  glided 
along  with  a  pleasant  murmur,  while  the 
cavern  seemed  to  Israel  to  become  a  vast 
chamber  through  which  his  voice  echoed  ; 
and  in  reply  to  his  shouting,  near  voices 
called  back  and  distant  whispers  repeated 
the  tone  again  and  again. 

'*  Helloa  !  Israel-for-Israel !"  he  shout- 
ed. 

"  Hi,  Israel-for-Israel !  Ho,  Israel-for- 
Israel !    Israel!  —  srail ! ael !   Hi  —  ael ! 

el !      Hi  —  Ho  !      Heigho  !"    shouted 


244     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

and  laughed  and  murmured  and  sighed 
a  chorus  of  voices,  near  and  distant. 

''  Israel-for-Israel !"  he  shouted  again 
with  all  the  force  of  his  lungs.  "  Here  am 
I,  Israel !" 

"  I !  I  !  I  !  I !  I  !"  repeated  the  chorus, 
in  a  thousand  mocking  tones. 

"  Yes,  I !"  he  cried  again.     "  As  often  as 

I  choose,   I  !    I !    Come  and  see  and 

bring  a  light  from  h — ,  some  of  you  !" 

"  Here  is  a  lantern,  master  !" — This  voice 
was  not  an  echo.  Someone  was  standing 
close  beside  Israel  and  holding  a  miner's 
lantern  in  his  hand.  Its  feeble  light  dis- 
closed features  at  the  same  time  familiar 
and  strange :  they  were  those  of  the 
mountaineer ;  they  were  those  of  the  old 
portrait ;  they  were  the  features  of  Gray. 
Their  expression  was  smiling  and  servile, 
and  the  voice  in  which  this  being  continued 
to  speak  was  servile. 

"  Don't  harm  me,  master ;  don't  you 
now,"  he  pleaded.  "  See  here,  master  !" 
— He  held  the  lantern  nearer  to  the  wall 
of  the  cavern,  which  reflected  its  light 
from  a  myriad  points  with  a  rich,  yellow 
gleam. 

''Gold!  gold!  —  mine  and  yours,"  he 
cried  ;    "  for  I  am  your  servant,  to  gerve 


MRS.   EATON'S    VERSION  24S 

you  in  all  things.  Here,  master,  and 
everywhere,  I  am  your  servant !" 

Only  the  voices  of  the  cavern  replied. 
Dreadful  voices,  that  will  not  cease  to 
echo  night  and  day  in  my  mind ! 

Thus  began  the  association  of  Israel 
with  Gray.  Up  to  this  point,  every  im- 
portant act  in  Israel's  evil  life  is  as  clear 
to  me  as  though  I  had  been  an  eye-witness 
throughout ;  but  from  this  point  onward 
all  is  indistinct  and  uncertain.  How  could 
it  be  otherwise  ?  When  selfish  strength  is 
joined  to  diabolical  cunning  —  that  un- 
dying spirit  of  darkness  which  will  serve 
anyone  who  has  conquered  the  last  gener- 
ous impulse  —  what  hope  to  trace  its 
course  ?  That  wrong  which  Strength  has 
done.  Cunning  has  concealed. 


Conclusion— By  Mr.  PENMAN 


O WARDS  the  end  of  March  last, 
I  received  a  note  from  Mrs. 
Eaton  requesting  me  to  arrange 
an  interview  at  my  office  be- 
tween herself  and  Livingstone.  I  did  not 
feel  at  liberty  to  refuse,  and  no  doubt  I 
was  moved  by  curiosity  and  a  desire  to  be 
present  at  a  meeting  so  novel  in  character. 

The  interview  was  accordingly  arranged 
for  the  thirty -first. 

At  half-past  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
of  that  day  Mrs.  Winthrop  Eaton  entered 
her  old  adviser's  private  office.  She  had 
of  late  showed  distressing  signs  of  failing 
health,  and  now  as  she  came  in  I  noticed, 
more  than  ever  before,  lines  of  suffering 
about  her  eyes  and  mouth.  But  these 
vanished  in  the  bright  smile  which  lighted 
up  her  whole  face  as  she  came  forward 
and  took  the  easy  chair  by  the  grate, 
saying : 

**  Many  thanks  for  your  prompt  obe- 
dience, Mr.  Penman." 


248    GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

Then,  with  an  instantaneous  change  of 
tone,  manner  and  expression,  she  continued 
to  speak,  as  though  recurring  to  a  train  of 
thought  which  had  been  interrupted  by 
her  entrance. 

*'  He  has  proved,"  she  said,  ''that  a  man 
may  do  as  much  evil  as  he  chooses,  pro- 
vided he  does  it  through  agents  and 
screens  himself  behind  them,  and  yet 
escape  punishment  entirely.  He  has 
proved  that  the  wages  of  sin  is  not  death, 
but  wealth,  power,  position,  the  smiles  of 
honest  women  and  the  respect  of  honest 
men." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Eaton,"  I  said  anxiously, 
''you  do  not  feel  well." 

"  Do  not  say  that — not  that !"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  This  is  what  I  mean  :  Israel 
Slyme,  or  James  Johnson,  has  taken  a  new 
name,  and  now  calls  himself  Donald  Liv- 
ingstone !" 

This  assertion  she  had  repeatedly  made 
to  me  in  almost  the  same  terms  ;  I  thought 
it  best,  however,  to  urge  the  objections  to 
this  view  once  more,  and  said : 

"  But,  my  dear  madame,  Livingstone 
comes  of  an  old  and  prominent  family,  as 
you  know  ;  and  he  was  born  in  Paris  while 
his  parents  were  traveling  abroad " 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  24g 

'*  Yes,"  she  interrupted,  with  sarcastic 
emphasis ;  "  and  both  parents  soon  after- 
ward died  —  very  opportunely  —  and  the 
child  was  brought  up  by  an  uncle  Andso- 
forth  and  an  aunt  Andsoon,  who  are  also 
dead.  It  is  a  most  ingenious  story, — so 
ingenious  that  I  have  not  been  able  to 
prove  absolutely  that  it  is  untrue,  but  only 
that  it  is  extremely  improbable.  Even  if 
I  could,  it  is  not  Livingstone's  invention, 
but  Gray's." 

*'  But  young  Israel  had  such  a  remark- 
able face  that  I  am  sure  I  should  recognize 
him,  even  after  these  thirty  years." 

'*  Not  necessarily.  Thirty  years  ago  his 
face  was  unformed.  His  coloring  and 
expression  and  other  things  which  have 
changed  with  time  were  what  you  would 
naturally  have  noticed  then." 

''  But  Israel  had  a  peculiar  birthmark  on 
his  cheek " 

"  Which  is  covered  by  a  scar,  and  that 
scar  almost  hidden  by  his  beard.  But  we 
need  not  disprove  anything !  We  have 
only  to  confront  him  with  the  facts. 
Hardened  as  he  is,  he  will  betray  himself 
in  some  manner  !" 

''  But,"  I  objected,  ''  such  things  do  not 
happen  in  these  days — such  adventures  as 


2SO     GRA  Y;  AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

you  think  Israel  has  had.  Besides,  Liv- 
ingstone's own  account  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  gained  his  wealth  is  satisfactory, 
or  nearly  so.  He  was  in  California,  looking 
for  an  opportunity  to  make  an  investment 
in  lands.  He  stumbled  upon  a  deserted 
town,  which  he  bought  for  a  mere  song. 
It  was  a  great  piece  of  luck.  The  site 
had  been  well  chosen,  but  the  project- 
ors lacked  '  push  '  to  carry  out  what  they 
had  begun.  Besides,  the  entire  State  of 
California  was  at  that  period  so  attract- 
ive a  field  for  enterprise  that  this  one 
undertaking  had  been,  naturally  enough, 
abandoned  when  it  proved  to  be  difficult. 
He  found  by  trial  that  the  difficulties 
were  largely  imaginary.  That  was  the 
beginning  of  his  great  prosperity." 

''  Oh,  don't  you  see,"  she  exclaimed, 
*'  that  this  story  is  a  mere  invention,  sug- 
gested by  his  actual  experience  at  Ameri- 
cus  Cit}^  ?  It  is  true  that  he  bought  lands 
in  California ;  but  he  did  not  go  there 
until  seven  years  after  he  left  Oskawask, 
and  then  his  purchases  showed  him  to  be 
already  enormously  wealthy.  When  you 
and  Perkins  were  driven  from  the  Blue 
Mountain  by  blood-hounds,  Gray  told  you 
that  his  master,  Captain  Johnson,  had  just 


MR.    PENMAN'S    VERSION  2JI 

returned  from  the  West.     That  fixes  the 
date  of  his  California  speculations." 

A  few  minutes  before  three  o'clock  Liv- 
ingstone, grave  and  gracious  as  usual, 
entered  my  office,  Mrs.  Eaton  took  no 
notice  of  his  polite  bow,  but  continued  to 
speak  as  though  he  had  been  present  dur- 
ing the  foregoing  conversation.  She  ad- 
dressed herself  to  him,  instead  of  to  me — 
that  was  the  only  difference.  She  told  him 
that  her  husband  was  in  great  distress. 
He  was  earning,  she  said,  scarcely  enough 
to  keep  a  roof  over  their  heads,  and  he 
was  earning  that  by  efforts  beyond  mor- 
tal strength.  He  was  killing  himself  by 
degrees. 

This  communication  she  made  with 
such  suddenness  and  force  that  Living- 
stone did  not  venture  to  interrupt  her  ; 
and  she  concluded  with  a  demand,  rather 
than  a  request,  for  a  large  sum  of  money. 
At  that  point  he  found  opportunity  to 
explain  that  he  was  not  unacquainted  with 
Winthrop's  embarrassment ;  that  he  had 
felt  privileged  by  his  affectionate  inti- 
macy with  her  husband  to  offer  him  assist- 
ance, but  that  the  offer  had  been  most 
positivel}^  refused. 


2^2     GRAY:   AN  OLDHAVEN  ROMANCE 

I  say  that  Livingstone  found  oppor- 
tunity to  make  this  explanation ;  but  that 
statement  is  not  accurate.  Mrs.  Eaton 
appeared  scarcely  to  note  what  he  was 
saying.  When  Livingstone  referred  to 
her  husband's  refusal,  she  rose  from  her 
chair  and  walked  quickly  up  and  down 
the  room  several  times.  I  looked  at  her 
appealingly,  but  she  ignored  my  presence. 

Livingstone  also  stood  up  and  began  to 
say  that  Winthrop's  rejection  of  his  pro- 
posal should  not  prevent  his  serving  her 
in  any  way  in  his  power.  She  paid  no 
heed  to  this,  so  he  ceased  speaking,  and 
we  were  all  three  silent  for  a  minute  or 
two. 

Then  she  came  and  stood  before  Living- 
stone. Looking  fixedly  at  him,  with  the 
strangest  expression  I  ever  saw  on  mortal 
face,  she  asked : 

-Why?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said. 

"  Why  did  he  refuse?" 

"  On  the  ground,"  Livingstone  answered, 
"  that  he  could  give  me  no  security  for 
the  loan,  and  that  his  pride  would  suffer 
if  he  accepted  such  a  favor  from  me,  upon 
whom,  he  said,  he  had  no  claim." 

"  No    claim !"    she    echoed ;    and    then 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  2^^ 

with  inconceivable  extravagance  and  fiery 
eloquence  she  charged  him  with  being  no 
less  than  the  most  abominable  among  men. 

She  said  that  he  offered  the  revolting 
spectacle  of  a  brother  lifting  himself  up 
by  the  ruin  of  his  own  family  and  stand- 
ing conspicuously  upon  the  ruins  to  pose 
before  the  world  as  a  benefactor  and 
friend  of  the  poor.  She  protested  against 
the  course  which  he  had  been  pursuing 
with  reference  to  his  son,  Winthrop,  say- 
ing that  he  had  exposed  him  to  dangers 
which  would  have  corrupted  the  heart 
and  ruined  the  career  of  any  less  pure  and 
sturdy  nature. 

As  though  utterly  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand her,  Livingstone  asked  :  "  For  what 
purpose  have  I  done  this  ?" 

"  I  shall  tell  you  why  you  have  done 
this  thing,"  she  replied.  "  Inasmuch  as 
Winthrop  is  your  son,  he  is  part  of  your- 
self. To  just  that  extent  you  include  him 
in  your  self-love.  But  only  a  portion  of 
his  nature  is  derived  from  you.  His  share 
of  noble  impulses  keeps  you  out  of  posses- 
sion. If  you  could  destroy  the  mother's 
nature  in  him,  your  empire  over  him 
would  become  complete." 

"  Very  ingenious  and  perfectly  logical. 


2^4     GRAY:   AN  OLD  HAVEN  ROMANCE 

Receive  my  congratulations  upon  this 
reasoning,  Mrs.  Eaton,"  he  said.  ''  But— 
forgive  me  if  I  press  the  question — to 
what  end  all  this  elaborate  and  trouble- 
some preparation?  What  do  I  mean  to 
do  with  your  husband  finally?" 

"  Mr.  Livingstone,"  she  replied,  "  I 
know  more  of  your  past  life  than  you 
imagine,  perhaps.  I  know  and  can  prove 
by  what  crooked  paths  you  have  come  to 
your  present  position.  Do  not  misunder- 
stand me,"  she  added,  noticing  that  the 
cynical  smile  on  Livingstone's  face 
changed  to  a  slight  frown.  "  I  do  not 
mean  to  threaten  you  with  exposure.  I 
wish  to  be  perfectly  fair  and  open  in  my 
dealings  with  you  and  I  make  no  pre- 
tense of  being  able  to  injure  you  seriously. 
You  have  covered  your  tracks  so  well, 
you  have  shifted  responsibility  so  dex- 
terously, that  it  would  be  difficult  if  not 
impossible  for  anyone  to  prove  in  a  court 
of  law,  or  to  prove  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  public,  which  sees  and  admires  only 

your  success,  that  you  are what  you 

are.  I  will  not  stoop  to  calling  hard 
names.  You  have  not  hesitated  to  use 
unlawful  and  detestable  methods, — but 
indirectly,  paying  others  to  run  the  risks 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  ^55 

for  you  and  leaving  them  to  their  punish- 
ment when  detected.  This  you  have 
done,  not  through  cowardice,  but  know- 
ing that  it  was  the  one  path  by  which  you 
could  advance  always  in  security.  You 
are  no  coward :  you  would  have  acted 
for  yourself  if  that  had  been  necessary  or 
best  for  your  interests.  In  one  case  it  did 
become  necessary,  and  then  you  stained 
your  own  hand  so  deeply " 

"  Here  is  my  hand,"  Livingstone  inter- 
rupted, drawing  off  a  glove  and  holding 
out  the  right,  white  and  shapely,  but  evi- 
dently very  powerful.  ''  What  stain  is 
there  on  my  hand  ?" 

"  I  promised  myself  not  to  use  harsh 
terms,"  said  Mrs.  Eaton,  watching  him 
narrowly.  "  The  man — the  victim — was 
alone,  friendless,  a  hated  recluse.  I  shall 
not  tell  you  the  facts  exactly,  but  I  shall 
suggest  them."  She  began  to  pace  the 
floor  as  she  spoke,  still,  however,  keeping 
Livingstone  in  view. 

At  first  the  latter  displayed  only  cour- 
teous attention ;  but  as  the  narrative  pro- 
gressed, when  the  mountaineer  was  de- 
scribed, and  that  horrible  fruit  which  grew 
upon  the  Blue  Mountain,  and  the  curse 
with   which   the  possessor   of    the   hoard 


2S6    GRA  Y:  AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

must  be  cursed,  Livingstone  appeared  to 
find  in  her  words  a  significance  at  least 
equal  to  that  which  they  had  in  the  mind 
of  the  speaker.  As  I  watched  him  it  seem- 
ed to  me  that,  whereas  he  had  at  first  de- 
sired to  appear  attentive,  he  now  desired 
to  conceal  the  extent  and  intensity  of  his 
interest  in  what  she  was  saying.  Finally, 
when  Mrs.  Eaton  had  traced  the  work  of 
the  mountaineer,  calling  him  by  all  his 
names  in  turn — mountaineer,  guardian, 
Israel-for-Israel,  Gray — and  showing  how 
he  had  trained  the  young  adventurer  to 
commit  murder ;  when  she  had  shown 
the  treasure-way  opened  above  a  grave, 
and  the  danger  which  Israel  himself  es- 
caped gaining  in  force  as  it  rushed  onward 
in  an  avalanche  of  desolation  and  ruin ; 
when  she  spoke  then  of  those  mocking 
voices  that  would  not  cease  to  mock  and 
scoff  in  the  cavern,  Livingstone  took  sev- 
eral steps  toward  me,  his  eyes  threaten- 
ing, his  whole  figure  shaken  with  stormy 
passion. 

"  I  hold  you  responsible  for  this,  Mr.  Pen- 
man !"  he  cried  ;  but  then  he  checked  him- 
self. It  was  the  most  sudden  transforma- 
tion conceivable.  An  instant  afterward 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  emotion  in  his 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  257 

demeanor.  Taking  out  his  watch,  "  Ex- 
cuse me  for  noticing  the  hour,"  he  said. 
"  Ah  !  it  is  later  than  I  supposed  ;  but  I 
am  only  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  end  my 
call  now.  Many  thanks  for  your  enter- 
taining conversation,  Mrs.  Eaton.  I  have 
never,  upon  my  word,  been  so  genuinely 
interested.  You  have  made  me  forget 
time  and  place  and  myself,  even  !  But  in- 
deed you  noticed  how  your  invention 
carried  me  away.  When  you  speak  like 
that,  madame,  one  believes  that  fiction  is 
reality,  and  puts  himself  in  the  place  of 
the  creatures  of  your  imagination." 

A  baffled,  despairing  look  had  come  into 
Mrs.  Eaton's  white  face,  and  she  was 
trembling  so  that  I  feared  she  would  fall  ; 
but  with  a  final  effort  she  replied  :  "  I 
did,  indeed,  feel  much  complimented  by 
your  outburst.  It  was  evidently  spon- 
taneous and  natural." 

No  sooner  had  Livingstone  gone  out 
than  Mrs.  Eaton's  courage  and  strength 
gave  place  to  terror  and  exhaustion.  I 
did  what  I  could  to  cheer  her,  but  soon 
found  that  she  paid  no  heed  to  my  words 
and  that  her  condition  was  rapidly  becom- 
ing more  and  more  distressing.  I  made 
haste,  therefore,  to  convey  her  to  "■  West- 


2S8    GRA  Y:   AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

wood,"  where  I  left  her  in  the  care  of  her 
husband  and  returned  alone  to  Oldhaven. 

If  my  life  were  not  nearing  its  close — 
even  if  I  had  before  me  many  years — I 
should  never  be  able  to  forget  the  thoughts 
which  filled  my  mind  as  I  hastened  home- 
ward. The  scene  which  I  had  just  wit- 
nessed had  stirred  the  fountain  of  mem- 
ory to  its  depths,  and  things  long  hidden 
rose  to  the  surface.  Every  incident,  of 
which  I  had  ever  had  knowledge,  in  the 
lives  of  those  people  who  have  figured  in 
this  history,  came  back  to  me  then.  The 
whole  course  of  their  lives  was  distinct  in 
my  mind ;  and  yet  the  extravagant  and 
supernatural  elements  which  poor  Mrs. 
Eaton's  diseased  fancy  had  introduced 
seemed  not  less  real,  but  even  more  real, 
than  the  commonplace  portions  of  their 
experience.  It  seemed  to  me  that  her 
version  of  the  story  of  Israel  was  valuable, 
not  merely  as  the  photograph  of  her  own 
mind  when  trembling  on  the  verge  of  in- 
sanity ;  but  that  if  she  had  deliberately 
chosen  to  express  by  way  of  allegory  the 
essential  and  central  realities  of  such  a 
nature  as  Israel's,  she  could  not  have  done 
it  more  significantly  ;  that  even  if  she  had 


MR.  PENMAN'S    VERSION  2^g 

misrepresented  Livingstone,  the  individual, 
she  had  not  misrepresented  either  the  class 
of  adventurers  with  which  she  identified 
him  or  that  spirit  of  self-seeking  which 
seems  to  me  (an  old  and  timorous  Old- 
havener)  the  cancer  in  our  national  body  ; 
that  her  feverish  imagination  had  created, 
in  the  character  of  Israel,  something  more 
real  than  any  individual :  a  personified 
national  tendency.  She  had  spoken  truth, 
1  admitted  to  myself  ;  but  a  truth  which 
sanity  refuses  to  see.  The  man  of  sane 
mind  is  content  with  partial  knowledge  of 
his  associates,  and  does  not  seek  to  discov- 
er the  awful  secrets  and  the  possibilities  of 
evil  which  are  veiled  by  a  respectable  exte- 
rior. But  the  veil  of  discretion  had  been 
lifted  by  the  terrible  accusation  which  I 
had  just  heard,  and  for  the  moment  I  also 
believed  that  the  real  Livingstone  and  the 
real  Gray  were  Beowulf  and  Grendel — 
strength  and  diabolical  cunning  working 
together,  as  Israel  had  asserted  that  they 
might.  The  real  Gray,  I  said  to  myself  as 
I  drove  homeward  through  the  darkness, 
is  not  the  efficient  servant,  whose  manners 
are  perfect  and  whose  practices  are  secret. 
The  real  Gray  is  what  Mrs.  Eaton  de- 
scribed :    the    undying    guardian    of    the 


26o     GRA  Y:  AN  OLDHA  VEN  ROMANCE 

hoard,  serving  in  order  to  retain  posses- 
sion,— the  actual  owner,  whoever  may  be 
the  temporary  possessor,  of  great  wealth 
employed  for  selfish  purposes. 

At  the  date  of  this  writing,  Mrs.  Eaton 
is  still  confined  in  a  private  asylum ;  but 
her  physicians  report  great  improvement 
and  promise  speedy  restoration  to  health 
and  reason. 

What  is  the  plain  and  literal  truth  in  re- 
lation to  Livingstone  ?  I  do  not  know  ; 
for  I  am  incapable  of  professing  to  know 
anything  which  is  not  susceptible  of  posi- 
tive proof.  It  seems  to  me  that  credence 
given  to  that  which  is  not  thus  suscepti- 
ble of  proof  savors  of  a  form  of  insanity 
similar  to  that  from  which  poor  Mrs. 
Eaton  is  now  suffering.  But  I  should  like 
to  suggest  one  or  two  lines  of  thought 
which  I  myself  have  pursued  in  reasoning 
upon  this  question.     They  are  these  : 

Unless  Mrs.  Eaton  had  some  items  of 
information  which  she  has  never  imparted 
to  me,  it  is  probable  that  the  suggestion 
of  the  murder  originated  and  was- elabor- 
ated in  her  own  mind.  What  I  had  told 
her  about  Americus  City,  the  resemblance 
between  the  man  whom  we  saw  on  the 


MR.   PENMAN'S    VERSION  261 

mountain  and  Gray,  the  name  Johnson, 
the  physical  peculiarities  of  the  mountain 
itself — these  particulars  would  hardly  have 
been  shaped  and  combined  into  such  a 
story  unless  the  germ  of  the  suggestion 
had  been  in  her  own  nature.  Our  opin- 
ions of  others  reflect  our  own  essential 
character.  It  is  an  awful  thought  that  the 
germ  of  murderous  impulse  is  hidden  in 
every  heart — even  beneath  the  tenderest 
and  purest  bosom.  Hiiniani  nihil  a  me 
alienum  puto. 

That  instinct  which  leads  one  back  to 
one's  early  home,  in  the  desire  to  end  life 
where  it  was  begun,  would  account  for 
Livingstone's  return,  if  he  is  the  lost  Israel 
Slyme  ;  but  he  certainly  would  not  have 
returned  to  his  old  home  without  first  de- 
stroying every  trace  of  his  course  which 
could  lead  to  his  identification.  If,  there- 
fore, he  is  the  same  individual,  no  person 
will  ever  know  it.  If  Mrs.  Eaton  had  ap- 
pealed to  him  as  a  stranger  or  mere  ac- 
quaintance, he  would  doubtless  have  re- 
sponded according  to  her  wish ;  for  it  is 
not  a  generous  act  when  Mr.  Livingstone 
gives.  It  involves  no  sacrifice.  But  she 
compelled  him  to  refuse  her  demand  when 
she  claimed  it  as  of  right.     To  have  given 


262     GRA  Y:   AN  OLD  HA  VEN  ROMANCE 

after  that  accusation  would  have  been  to 
plead  guilty. 

But  Livingstone  interests  me  less  than 
Gray.  Israel,  or  Livingstone,  will  die  and 
carry  with  him  his  secrets  into  the  grave. 
Gray — the  real  Gray — will  not  die. 


THE   END. 


